For You, I Would
by Dlvvanzor
Summary: Mello will do anything he has to do to take over the Mafia. Anything. Or... well... almost anything. MelloxMatt, Mello POV.  REWRITE. Complete.
1. Initiation

**Disclaimer: I do not own Death Note.**

**A/N: My wonderful fanfiction wife The iPod Addict gave me this idea. It's a really good thing, because I had no more ideas, and I had barely written anything since December (original or fanfiction), which, for me, is like being constipated. Which sucks.**

**Warnings: Language. Also violence, crude sexuality, sex scenes later, disturbing themes, probably drugs and/or abuse...**

**Also. This is not a fluffy story. There will probably BE fluff, but don't expect to be happy when this fanfic is over. If you've read Beautiful Disaster, you know that I am not afraid to kill off main characters. That is your warning. :)**

* * *

I fired without hesitation and, of course, the bullet hit its mark between the man's eyes. It was not the first time I had shot someone, but it _was_ the first time it had been under the category of 'initiation rites.'

As Matt would have said, access granted.

The man crumpled to the floor, no time to even scream, and I took a step back so that he wouldn't bleed on my boots. These were the only boots I had that matched my leather, and if this fucker decided to stain them with his damn bodily fluids, I'd be forced to shoot him again to prove a point to the guys who would soon be _my_ men. Not that _they_ knew that yet.

It was a particularly brutal, crude rule in this particular branch of the Mafia. Any traitors or prisoners or just anyone they were plain bored with got put in a cell and left there until there was a new recruit. Then, the newbie (here, me) and the prisoner were put in a little room together. The newbie was armed, the prisoner wasn't. The newbie is told to shoot. It was about pure brutality for this test, not skill- basically, can you accept the order to kill an unarmed person, weak from time spent in a cell? If the answer was yes, then you pass. If it was no, or you miss, you're both killed.

Of course, the newbie doesn't know that he'll be killed if he misses or refuses. That would defeat the purpose. Fear is a great motivator, but when your goal is to test someone's cruelty, you can't let them know that their own life is on the line. _I_ only knew because I actually have a brain and thought about it. Dozens of people try to get in, and none come back rejected. Either the Mafia has started accepting every scumbag who waltzes by, or they're smart enough to kill the failures.

The Mafia definitely doesn't just accept any schmuck that needs a job, and they're definitely not stupid.

So I saw through their test. Knew it before I even came, so, even though I knew I'd be killed if I said no, the test still tested what it was supposed to. I had happily, knowingly, freely, and willingly shot a weak, unarmed man who begged me not to kill him. Yes, the test proved that I sure as hell was just the kind of cruel that they were looking for.

At the sound of the gunshot, the door opened. Through it stepped a big man in a purple shirt with a wretched gold chain around his neck. He was bald and had a narrow beard. I knew then that the gun only had one bullet, because there was no way he'd ever let me have an advantage like this.

"What's your name?" he asked. He had a deep, smooth voice. He wore sunglasses, even though we were indoors, probably as a prevention measure against Kira. People were starting to whisper that Kira needed someone's face to kill them, and some people thought that wearing sunglasses would prevent it.

Fuck that. If Kira was a god, then he didn't need to know our damn faces. And if he was a human with some kind of power and access to the internet, then sunglasses weren't going to do anything except make you partially blind, putting you at a pretty huge disadvantage right away against the things that were going to kill you more imminently than _Kira_.

This guy had to be the boss, though. Assuming he wasn't an idiot, he would want the only one with that (perceived) advantage against Kira to be _him_. He would hope that the minions (whose rank I was just about to join) would have their faces pasted all over the place, so that they'd be killed long before he was. If nothing else, they would serve as a warning that he was next.

"Mello," I finally answered. I put on my best 'dead eyes' and I saw him restrain a very tiny smile.

"Mellow. Must be fucking annoying to have an emotion as a name. Adverb, isn't it?"

An adjective and a verb, actually, but I sure as hell wasn't gonna give the man a grammar lesson.

"Yep," I agreed boredly, holding out the gun. "Only gave me one damn bullet. You want it back?"

"It's yours," he said blandly, but I could tell he was impressed that I knew there was only one bullet. There was a two-way mirror in this room, so he would have seen that I never opened it to check. "Consider it your first day's paycheck."

Like we'd be getting paychecks in the Mafia. But whatever, it was better than my current gun. Not that I wouldn't carry both, of course.

"I'm Rod Ross," he told me. "Your boss's boss's boss. Don't get too excited- this is probably the last you'll ever see of me, unless you manage to go awhile without getting shot." His face told me he wasn't joking, and I wasn't at all surprised. "Follow me." 

He turned around, assuming that I would follow. At one time, that probably would have insulted me. By this point, though, it was better than the other things I had had to do to get this far. I was still trying to get the taste of that other guy out of my mouth. In comparison to deepthroating some old, wrinkly fag, following Rod Ross didn't even approach insulting.

I followed him through a ton of old, marked-up corridors, grafitied gratuitously with penises and the occasional pussy, random tits and colorful, illegible signatures. The floor was cement as well, cracked and stained with what could only be blood.

He kept walking until the corridor opened up to another room, which was about the same except for a small pit of zebra-striped couches (which hurt my eyes) in the center and the technology that lined the walls. Matt would have had a field day. The room seemed to be lit only by these computers, which gave the place a dingy, soiled appearance that was probably exactly what they were looking for. There were a few whores walking around, who I had a feeling were complimentary, and one guy was actually being ridden on one of the couches. I seriously did not need to see that.

I sensed Ross looking at me, so I double-checked what my face was up to. Still blank, still dead. Excellent. It rarely failed, no matter how I was really feeling or how surprised I was. I looked at my boss's boss's boss expectantly, awaiting orders. He was _so_ much taller than me that I had to look conspicuously up, since he was right next to me.

"You get used to seeing that," he said, indicating the prostitute and the man under her, "after you do it a few times yourself."

I analyzed him to figure out the correct answer. That was one thing I could do that Near never figured out. Because I actually _have_ emotions, I can almost always figure out other people's. The albino ice-sculpture-of-a-sheep _Near_ was hopeless in that situation. Which is why I should have been L, but that was inconsequential now. I'd found my own way to capture Kira. It was just significantly less legal than Near's way, but luckily I didn't give a shit about that particular aspect of this job.

I figured out the correct answer, then gave it. I laughed darkly. "I don't give a fuck." I crossed the room and flung my ass onto the couch adjacent to the two, crossing my legs on the dilapidated coffee table and flinging my arms out over the back of the couch, as if I owned it. I looked around, pretending to admire my surroundings. It was good tech, but I had grown up at Wammy's. This shithole in the ground couldn't compare.

I could feel waves of approval from the direction of Ross, and he walked comfortably until he was standing next to the people fucking, which was the most natural way to be in front of me. He saw that I had the power this way, so he kicked the preoccupied guy in the leg and said, "Glen, move your ass. We have a new recruit."

It was a testament to Ross's authority that 'Glen' actually pushed the hooker off of himself and moved. Blueballing at its worst. He didn't bother to do up his pants, instead just grabbing the girl by the wrist and yanking her off the floor (where he had shoved her). He dragged her out of the room, where I can assume they finished up.

My attention, however, was on Rod Ross. AKA, the boss of this branch. AKA, the man whose position I would one day hold, if I had any say in the matter. Which I did.

He sat back and smiled at me for a while. I could see right through him. It was such a basic technique that I was tired by the fact that he expected me to go for it. He was going to wait me out, make me talk first. That would give _him_ the power.

Unfortunately for him, I had nowhere to be. Not today, not tomorrow, not the next day. He, on the other hand, probably had a home to get back to. Possibly a family. A wife, or at least a woman. He probably had hobbies other than sitting across from me, while I had nothing and no one. He'd need to eat eventually, and I had chocolate bars in my pants. He was clearly a meat and potatoes kind of guy, who was used to eating when he was hungry and exercising to keep his muscles as enormous as they were. Me, I starved myself on a regular basis. The terrifying, brilliant, corpsey looking I'm going for demands it, and self-loathing makes it easy.

I would definitely win a sit-out.

He must have sensed that because, after a while, he spoke. He stretched and smiled wider, as if he just happened to be done staring at me, and finally said, "So it's Mello. You seem smart. I'm sure that by now you realize you've passed the test."

I bit back a comment about how observant he was proving to be. I could be sarcastic to him when I owned his ass. Instead, I just nodded lazily. "Yessir."

"Got somewhere to be tonight?" he asked.

"Nope."

"No family? Friends? A woman?"

Family dead, friends left behind, and sure as _hell_ no women. "No sir."

He leaned forward. "We've run a background check on you."

Well duh. Like they hadn't already known my name when they asked.

"There's nothing," he continued when I just stared at him. "And when I say nothing, I mean _you don't exist_. Which either means that you actually _don't_ exist, or that you've been operating under a fake name for at least five years. Either way, we have no complaints. So. Since you have nowhere to go tonight, how about your first job?"

I didn't even acknowledge that he was speaking, just making my gaze burn into him. I wanted my boss's boss's boss to be afraid of me. Even my _parents_ had been afraid of me. Only one person in the world wasn't, and I had ditched him along with the others two years ago.

But it could be hard, I thought as he stared back, unflinching. This dude pissed ice cubes. These people had seen a lot. Seen a _lot_ of shit a whole hell of a lot scarier than me.

For now.

So I simply stretched, smiled like a cat, and said, "Of course."


	2. Standard Circle

**Disclaimer: I do not own Death Note.**

**A/N: It WILL eventually be MxM, just not for a while. And there will be much angst and rejoicing. XD Promise!**

**Also, be gentle on any typos. My keyboard is dying on me so it keeps skipping letters. I try to catch them, but I'm sure I missed **_**something**_**.**

* * *

Rod Ross smiled, satisfied, and leaned back in his seat. "That's what I like to hear." He craned his neck. "Hey," he said to someone who wasn't me. "Throw me that file."

The folder was promptly tossed to him, and he held it up, raising an eyebrow behind his sunglasses. After holding it up to show me, he tossed it. I caught it deftly with my left hand, not looking away from him.

Even my eyes hadn't managed to freak him out. Not yet.

"First job," he told me, leaning back in his seat again. "Standard. Shouldn't be too hard, for someone like you."

I smirked. Liar, even to his own men? I approved.

Because who in the hell would make their minion's first job an _easy_ one? No, I thought as I opened the file and glanced through it, there was no way this one was going to be easy. You have to weed out the weak ones, scare away the pathetic ones. Find out right from the start who was likely to run away from a situation if it was too hard, and who was likely to find a way to make it happen.

Well. A hard job, then. Worked for me. I could show them exactly the lengths to which I would unhesitatingly go, as many times as they needed to see it, until they made _me_ boss simply because they were too afraid _not_ to. I was sure they'd seen people try to advance by taking orders, or by staying long hours or developing their skills. _I'd_ do it by being stark, raving mad, terrifying, and brilliant.

Shouldn't be a problem. That came naturally.

"Yes sir," I said. After this job, I wouldn't call any of them 'sir' again, and they wouldn't ask me to.

"You need to break into a little base," Ross explained to me as if I couldn't read. He couldn't be expected to know that I was fluent in four languages and proficient in two others. Was he really used to minions that couldn't even form a coherent sentence? This should be fun, then. For now, though, I let him continue. "There shouldn't be more than three guards, probably just untrained thugs. If you stay hidden, you should be able to snipe them, no problem. Then, get in, get the thing they're guarding, get out, and bring the thing back here."

Oh, so it was a base of our own men, trained, with at least twice as many men as what he was saying. And the thing they were guarding was fake, useless, or both, whatever it was. It amused me that Rod Ross thought he was cryptic and tricky.

And how he thought I was never coming back. Ha.

I nodded, glancing over the file. "Fine. When should I leave?"

"Now. And you can reload your gun on the way out."

I got up without another word, reloaded with a snap, and walked out the door.

* * *

I found the place with very little effort, because it was _made_ to be stupidly easy to find. It only confirmed my belief that this was another test, not that my theory had any holes to make it _need_ confirmation. Slightly unexpected, however, was the fact that there really _were_ places to hide nearby. Like they wanted to give you a chance.

I was good at stealth. I already knew that, and they'd eventually know that too. For now, though, it would be to my benefit that they didn't. So I simply smiled at the hidden camera I had already noticed (placed there to evaluate my actions) and went in shooting.

The guards, definitely trained, snapped to attention, confused because they had been expecting a stealth attack. What crazy bastard was insane/suicidal enough to just come marching up to them like this? And if he _wasn't_ crazy, then what skills or weapons must he have to make him so damn sure of himself?

Their confusion worked to my benefit, and I didn't even pause to count how many guards there were, I just fired until everyone was dead, until no one was shooting at _me_ anymore and until seven guards lay at my feet, thoroughly murdered.

One of the guys was still alive, though, and I sneered at my poor shot. I noticed the moment he moved, probably to call out for his mother or for water. Gut shot, nasty. The kind thing to do would have been to shoot him and put him out of his misery quickly, as opposed to letting him live out the extremely painful fifteen minutes that awaited him. But my future underlings, who needed to think I didn't know the meaning of the word mercy, were watching, so I did not, simply kicking him in his stomach (pasting on a smirk when he screamed) and heading into the fort.

It was a tiny place, no additional guards. On a small pedestal in the middle of the room sat a gun. I snorted, but didn't make the stupid mistake of just grabbing it. It was unlikely, but it _could_ be a trap, and I didn't intend to be blown to smithereens on this day or any other.

I checked carefully. I was almost disappointed- but by no means surprised- when it wasn't booby trapped. I could have really gone for a good, old-fashioned, heart-pounding time bomb disarming right about then.

I sighed and picked up the gun. I could tell by its weight that it was loaded. Who the hell keeps a loaded gun lying around? I mean, besides me? Okay then, what _non-suicidal_ person keeps a loaded gun lying around?

A person who expects someone to come after them.

I whipped around just in time, instantly taking aim and firing at the guy who had materialized silently behind me, just as he was about to draw his gun. I hit him right between the eyes and he crumpled into a little pile, a bit of his bloodied skull flying out behind him like shrapnel and hitting the guy behind him in the chest. The second guy yelped and dropped his weapon, frantically wiping bits of his dead friend off his chest. I ignored him for the moment, because there were five other people coming at me, and one already had his gun out...

He cocked it and yelled, "Drop your gun."

Damn it.

With another sigh, I bent down fluidly and slowly, placing the gun on the ground. I smirked at him through my hair as I straightened back up, letting all the crazy from inside go into my eyes. He looked uncomfortable, but he didn't lower his weapon, and by now the other four guys, plus Skull Bits Man, had drawn their guns and were pointing them at me. No nonsense. Of course, if it was _me_, I would have shot the person in the middle by now. Sloppy.

Because the standard circle was a really, really stupid move, and if whoever had trained them had had a little more experience or at least half a brain, he would have known that a damn circle makes friendly fire more likely than actually hitting the target.

But hey, not my fault that the Mafia apparently hired crap teachers.

"_All_ your weapons," the guy snarled 'dangerously.' Except I could see right through the bastard. He kept a straight face, but his eyeballs were about to pop out of his head he was so scared. Of me.

I let myself chuckle. The sound was strange to my own ears.

Bending down again like some kind of cross between a stripper and a black panther, I placed one of the other two guns on the floor- the one I had come with.

"_All_ of them," the man repeated, thinking he was using a tone that I wouldn't dare mess with. I raised an eyebrow threw my arms out to the sides, as if I had no more.

"...Okay," he said after a moment. Such an idiot.

I made up for where his trainer left off by drawing my remaining gun (the one the Mafia had given me) and shooting him in the heart, killing him instantly. As I did I hit the dirt, and the other men neatly and efficiently shot each other _for_ me.

Friendly fire's a bitch.

Casually, I picked up the two guns they had gotten off me and stashed them in my pants (why not? Who was gonna make fun of me. Were _you_?), and walked out the door.

* * *

Back at the base, Ross was trying to pretend he wasn't surprised to see me.

"Oh, you're back. That was quick. Did you chicken out?"

I snorted as if it were the most absurd question in the world. I tossed the gun at him, still loaded. He gasped and caught it, fumbling it for a moment before he gained control and safely removed the bullets.

Acting like that hadn't happened, he said, "So how did it go? How many guards were there? Two? Three?" 

"They were _your_ men," I said emotionlessly. "You know how many there were. And you already know how I did, there were four cameras in and around the place. Don't act like an idiot. I passed your damn test with flying colors. I missed _nothing._"

He nodded. "Be back here at five in the morning tomorrow." It was not a suggestion. "Report to Jose, and follow his orders as if they were mine."

"Yeah."

"Get to whatever hellhole you live in and get some sleep," he said. "You're useless to us if you take a nap on the job."

I let my grin fade into a scary, dead-serious face. "I don't sleep," I said monotonously. "But I appreciate the sentiment."

With that, I spun on my heel, sending my hair flying out in all directions, the pretty gold a stark contrast against my leather that I hope confused the hell out of people, and did just what Ross said: I headed back to my hellhole apartment.

But definitely not to sleep.


	3. Praying to the Ceiling

**Disclaimer: I do not own Death Note.**

**  
A/N: Hi! Less angst in this chapter. Well, a different _kind_ of angst. :)**

* * *

If I had my say, I'd get or steal a car, pick a direction, and drive in it until something stopped me. I'd pack light, probably only one or two changes of clothes with some additional underwear and maybe a toothbrush. I'd drive until I was exhausted and in danger of crashing, and then I'd sleep in my car or at some dirt-cheap motel. Maybe I'd call Matt up and take him with me- he'd always wanted to do something like this. He talked about it almost every night when I'd hold him in our shared room. That is, if he'd even let me get past 'hello' before hanging up.

I absently kicked my stove into working, and after some vague threats and half-hearted bribes, it decided that it was good and ready to heat up. I would have to steal a microwave at some point. I put some chocolate milk in a rust-eaten pan I had found in the trash and scrubbed the hell out of. This, I placed on the fire, which, by the way, wouldn't go past the lowest possible level, to heat. Excruciatingly slowly.

I stared at the light brown liquid as it began to simmer, quite a time later.

_Would_ Matt hang up? When he got the call- I knew he would never change his number because it was significant to some game- from a phone that his caller ID didn't recognize, and when he picked it up and heard my voice? Would he even...?

More importantly, would I ever do it?

When I left, I told myself vaguely that I'd call him someday. Maybe just to talk or maybe to bring him to me. He could help. He'd be a great hacker for the Mafia, and it would sure as hell help my case if I introduced a fiercely loyal genius hacker to them. Not that I'd be able to tell them that the reason he was so fiercely loyal was because he was once my gay lover, of course.

I shook my head to clear it. I couldn't be like that. 'Pining for the one who got away' didn't fit my developing image. I wasn't supposed to have a heart, so I'd delete it. And if that included Matt, well... th-then...

The milk was boiling by then, which was obviously hotter than I wanted it. Annoyed that I let myself be distracted by my own thoughts, I poured it into a mug and set it on the counter. Even if I didn't mind the idea of scalding my hand, mouth, and tongue, something that hot wouldn't even have a taste before searing off your taste buds.

On second thought.

The cup was steaming heavily. I blew on it experimentally and the white cloud cowered from my breath, replaced almost immediately with a new, stronger curl. I put my finger in the path of the steam, but, being steam, it didn't seem to mind and continued about its way. Then I put my pointer finger in the milk.

My mind lit up with pain and my hand yanked back before I even told it to. I popped my finger in my mouth to comfort the nerves there. After a few moments of throbbing, I removed it to look at it.

That was a remarkably stupid thing to do. But, in all honesty, it had felt pretty fucking cool.

I wasn't gonna go all cutting/burning emo or anything, but I could now completely understand the appeal. _Very_ interesting. Apparently I was a sadist _and_ a masochist. A fucked-up fag in a room of fucked-up homophobic Mafia men. This could only end well, right?

How bad could it be?

My hot chocolate eventually cooled and I took it with me to my ragged couch, sitting down. I flipped on the staticy TV and watched the vague outlines of people as they did, well, something. It was impossible to tell through the static, and the sound was shit too, but I didn't really care; this was the only time I ever watched it, and it wasn't like I cared to watch any show in particular. It was all crap and, unlike some people, I actually had stuff to do. Like getting into the Mafia.

Which had been surprisingly easy. Surprisingly not dangerous, relative, at least, to how dangerous I _thought_ it was going to be.

I thought about this as I sipped my hot chocolate. So, if it really wasn't so bad..._ could_ I call Matt? Maybe he really wouldn't be in any danger, and it _had_ to be better than what he must be going through at Wammy's without me. He had to be miserable. I knew him, and as narcissistic as that sounded, it was actually a statement of fact. I had once gone on a fieldtrip that he had declined his invitation to, just one night, and when I came back he had cried and held on to me all night. And that was when we were only eight and still _did_ things like 'crying,' and hadn't figured out that we wanted to fuck or that we were hopelessly, madly, crazy in love with each other.

I missed him so much.

No I didn't, damn it! He was an annoying little puppy dog that followed me around everywhere and looked at me with wide eyes and whose lazy-ass face lit up when I walked into a room like some kind of lovesick _girl_! Damn it damn it damn it! I didn't need that little bitch! I didn't _want_ him, either! I must have Stockholm's syndrome or something. The minute I get away from him, the moment I think it might be _safe for the poor innocent Mattie _I want to call him back? Like I needed someone dragging me down, making me talk about my feelings (which I no longer had, except for cruel pleasure, right? Right) and celebrate holidays! Maybe I had been happy to do that _shit_ before, but now I was _away _from the fucker! And free! I must just be horny because it had been a few years since I'd done it with Matt and a few _more _years since I had done it with someone who was actually approaching attractive. And Matt was hot. So it was totally understandable that I was thinking about him. Who _wouldn't_ want that ass back?

Furious, I drained the last of my hot chocolate and whipped it at the TV. The cup and the screen shattered, sputtering with electricity as remnants of liquid sent sparks everywhere. That could cause a fire. I didn't care about the property, but I didn't exactly want to die in my sleep. I'd _much_ rather die in a dramatic blaze of glory.

So I waited until the danger was over, unplugged the TV, and went to the bathroom to get ready for bed.

As I brushed my teeth, I stared at myself in the mirror. I looked nothing like that picture Near had of me as a kid, at least in my opinion. My hair was a little longer, a lot less kept, and I sure as hell wasn't wearing the black, long-sleeves-long-pants cotton outfit I had liked so much as a kid. My current leather was as revealing as the previous clothes had been modest. My cheeks were thinner and my eyes were hollow.

I stripped and got into the shower. I didn't have control of the temperature or water pressure, so it alternated between steaming and teeth-chattering and from a waterfall to a drizzle. It was a long process, but good practice for Maintaining Badass Countenance in the Face of the Unpredictable, since I never knew what to expect from it.

I wasn't as gentle with my still-tender back as I should have been when I dried off. The thing was, if the cuts on my back kept getting reopened, it would just make them bigger, darker, and thicker. That was as good a deterrence as anything else I did, like my leather. Another silent suggestion that maybe, just _maybe_, you shouldn't fuck with me. And plus, bloodstains on my bed were actually a _good_ thing. If someone from the Mob ever figured out where I lived and broke in... well, blood was a good addition. Added to the 'crazy fuck' image.

So, dry but now bleeding, I got into bed, naked. I always slept all-natural, mostly because I didn't have anything but leather and leather is not fun to sleep in. I didn't even own underwear.

I lay in bed for a moment, staring at the ceiling.

I considered not doing it. I tried every night, and nothing ever changed. It was stupid to just keep doing it out of habit, right?

But I knew I'd never fall asleep if I didn't, and I really _did_ need to sleep. It had been a while since I had gotten more than twenty minutes in, and it was already late.

And maybe, _maybe_ God was still listening to me, even if He wasn't saying anything back.

"Hi," I said aloud, feeling as stupid as I usually did. I remembered that, as a little kid, I had always liked praying. In my head or out loud, it didn't matter, and it didn't matter where I _was_, either. I would pray out loud in the grocery store as I followed my parents, the strange looks I got just making me feel closer to God. I would pray out loud in my room at Wammy's. I said the Our Father so many times that Matt learned it and sometimes said it with me, mostly to please me.

And now, alone, I felt weird about it.

"So... um... hi," I repeated. What was this, an awkward date? And what was so different from yesterday that today was so much harder? I mean, it had felt pretty one-sided for the last few years, but I hadn't stuttered before. Nothing had changed. I had done nothing today that I hadn't done before. Murder. 'Theft.' Manipulation. Exhibition.

"I know You probably don't want to hear from me. I don't even know why I seem to think I have the right to pray. I don't know why it's so awkward, but just... sorry. I'm also sorry that I have to do all this stuff." Here I paused, thinking. I closed my eyes and tried to get into that zone, that state of relaxation and meditation that I remembered so clearly but hadn't been able to feel in so long. "I guess I'm not sorry that I _do_ it," I continued, "but I wish I didn't have to. But You know I do. There's no other way. And someone has to stop Kira. Maybe Near can do it, maybe not. Okay, so I know he can do it. But I want to do it first. I don't know why I'm saying this. I've said this a million times. I'm falling asleep. I might as well give in... well, anyway... Amen."

I sighed and turned over, my face now in my pillow, my sheets sticking lightly to my bleeding back. I was silent for a long moment. When I spoke again I was mumbling into my pillow. "And as always, God, please take care of Matt. Please, please, please take care of him. I love him more than anything. Please. Even if I'm not next to him..."

I fought back the tears that always tried to escape when I talked about Matt, but it was the most important thing I could possibly pray for. The most important...

But as usual, whether He was there or not, whether He still loved me or not, my words just hit the ceiling.


	4. Grave Robbery

**Disclaimer: I do not own Death Note.**

**A/N: Hello! :D Sorry about the downtime. I'd like to promise that it won't happen again, but... yeah, it probably will. XD I have like twelve different writing-related things going on and it's madness. I love it. XD**

**Regardless, here's chapter 4!**

* * *

I woke up screaming and entirely unsurprised that I was screaming. After all, someone like me... they _should_ have nightmares, right? Didn't I deserve them? Didn't I deserve to see the disembodied faces of every man and woman I had killed to satisfy my own ambition? Should I _not_ be forced to relive Mac and all the things that spending time with a big, meaty guy with that name implies? It was only right that every night I sweat through my sheets, that by the time I woke up they were so twisted that sometimes there wasn't even any cloth left on the bed- sheets in crumpled piles on the stained carpet.

It was only right.

Besides, it worked on the bags under my eyes which, once again, did nothing bad for my image.

I had only slept for an hour, but Ross had ordered me back at base at five. I showered (so much sweat) and dressed in my leather, which would someday be infamous. Someday, people were going to run in the opposite direction when they saw me coming. Someday people would drop to their knees and beg for their life if I so much as frowned.

It was an enticing thought, and it carried me through a quick breakfast (chocolate bar) and all the way to the grungy underground hellhole.

Jose, to whom I was supposed to report, was already there. So I walked up to him. "What's the plan?" I asked coolly. "More of yesterday's bullshit or are you going to actually let me do something?"

"It's real, all right," he replied. He was a thin, nervous-looking man, but he had that crazy-looking glint in his eyes, and I instantly liked him. Crazy works and hey, I can relate. His voice was kind of nasally, but still intimidating. Or, it would have been, if I was capable of fear. "This one's hard," he continued. "Not as hard as the last one, since that was a test, but it's hard. You got lucky last time, newbie. This time, you won't _be_ so lucky."

I rolled my eyes and sighed. "Whatever. Give me the file, Jose."

I reached for it, but he snapped it out of my hands. "Call me sir," he said dangerously, taking a step towards me. He was so close that I could feel his stinking breath. Drug addict; I recognized the teeth.

I rolled my eyes again and laughed in a rush. "I don't think so. And, as a side note, if you disrespect me again, I'll kill you."

He didn't believe me. Not at first, at least. Then he took a good, long look into my eyes and saw that there was absolutely no humor there. I wasn't kidding, and I saw the change in his posture when he finally figured that out.

All the better for him. Maybe he would actually survive my ascent to the top of this pathetic branch.

Most likely not. I didn't like him so much anymore.

Without a word, he handed me the file, then turned around and disappeared.

Right, bitch. Run away. I almost said it aloud, but decided it would be in bad taste as I opened the file. I skimmed it, noting the location. I'd wait for that night.

* * *

It was another disgustingly easy one, as it turned out. Grave robbery just isn't brain surgery. I was glad I hadn't joined the Mafia for the 'challenge' because I would have been very disappointed if I had. No, I could challenge _myself_ by finding Kira before Near when I had all the power, I thought as I walked up the stone steps to the mausoleum I was to break into.

It was dark, but the cemetery was far enough away from the city that I could actually see a few stars. Matt and I used to look at the stars together. I would drag him out in the middle of the night- he was wide awake anyway- and we'd lie on the grass, and I'd hold him, and we'd look up at the stars. He had been taking astrology one time and he'd pointed out dozens of constellations to me, proving just how good his memory was because he sure as hell hadn't studied. I had pretended not to see them just so that he'd trace them on my chest, knowing that I was lying, his hair brushing my cheek as he leaned in for a gentle kiss and...

So, anyway, the nearby streetlamps gave me almost enough light to navigate by, and I managed to not trip over any gravestones. The dirt was sandy under my boots, and the strange sinking but gravely feeling, accompanied with all the tiny insects that hopped around, reminded me of when I had buried my parents, good riddance. It was eerily silent, and I couldn't help but glance over my shoulder at the guard stand. The guards must be asleep- I had walked right on past them and the cemetery was supposed to be closed for the night.

This was yet another pathetic excuse for a mission. Maybe they thought the dead bodies would freak me out, maybe they really just wanted that urn, but it didn't matter. There wasn't even an excuse to shoot, after the initial blowing up of the crypt's entrance. I walked in confidently as the dust and debris cleared, ignoring the spider webs that collected in my hair as I brushed past them, and picked up the correct urn, putting it under my arm for safe travel. There were probably ashes in here. Huh. Maybe they were the ashes of an ex-member. Or, and this was more likely, the urn had coke in it. I tried to decide if it was disrespectful to transport drugs in an urn intended for dead people, but then I remembered that I didn't give a fuck.

Suddenly, I heard an alarm going off. _Damn_ they reacted slowly to explosions around here. I put the urn safely down behind a tombstone and got out my gun. Waiting.

Four guards, 'normal people' in every sense of the word, appeared from around the corner, running towards me, shouting. They were barely armed because, I mean, who the fuck robs graves nowadays? Stomping around, they shattered the chilly night silence, which pissed me off.

They slowed down when they saw that I wasn't bolting, although they gave me a suspicious once-over. I wasn't _acting _like a hood. Maybe I was just a random necrophiliac? One of the guys was staring at where my tits would be if I were a girl. I suspected that he thought I _was_.

Just to crush his dreams, I used my lowest, sexiest, manliest, deadliest voice. "Hello, fuckers, like what you see?"

Normally it was against my policy to hold unnecessary conversations with those who were about to be my victims (it gave my nightmare images accurate voices to scream in, to plead in, to weep in), but I just couldn't resist seeing the disappointment on the guy's face.

"Drop your weapon," one of the guards said carefully. "Please," he added.

Ah, now I understood why the case was 'hard.' Innocents. Maybe that would have bothered a lesser man than me. Well, as far as I was concerned, no one was 'innocent' and either Kira would kill them or I would.

"I don't think so," I said politely, and I shot him.

His buddies shrieked and dropped their guns as they spun around and ran. I didn't feel like running after them, so I simply shot each of them from behind with the frightening marksmanship Wammy had taught me 'purely for self-defense, and only in emergency situations.' Yeah right. Like he hadn't known what I would become.

They crumpled and fell forward. One guy's skull hadn't exploded quite as thoroughly as I would have liked, so I picked up the urn and made my way over to him. Double-tap, right, Columbus? Right. I shot him in the head again, just to make sure. No survivors. Where Mello walks, no one lives.

* * *

When I got back to the base, Jose took the urn from me and smashed it against the table to reveal dozens of little sandwich bags of white powder. Was I right or was I right? Although why they had stored it in a _mausoleum_ was beyond me. When I was in charge, we wouldn't do stupid things like that. It's called streamlining.

I booted the two people who were screwing on the couch where I wanted to sit (same guy, different whore) and watched Jose as he examined each bag for tears, crossing my ankles on the coffee table. I caught Jose glancing at me out of the corner of his eye for just a little too long.

Interesting.

He sent me home when he saw that there were no bags missing, and he stared at my ass my entire way out the door.

* * *

I got all the way to my front door before I realized that I absolutely couldn't face walking into that room. I even had the door open, my hand on the knob, my toes at the threshold. I stood there, stared at my living room, and _could not do it_. I couldn't take another step in that direction.

Which left only the other directions.

Tearing down the hallways, I ran to my motorcycle, my hair flying out behind me in the bitter cold night air, and tossed away my helmet as I climbed on. It landed with a clatter behind me as I took off at speeds that were legal nowhere but that one highway in Germany. Maybe I'd crash into something and die.

For now, assuming I survived the ride, I was going to go somewhere and do something wonderfully illegal.

Just had to figure out where.


	5. Hellhole Bars and Heroin

**Disclaimer: I do not own Death Note.**

**A/N: Ah, the language! So much language! But yeah. BA Mello. That tends to happen.**

**Rated M! And not just for the language.**

**Sorry about the downtime. And, much like the last chapter, this is mostly character development, although it does lead to things that will lead to things that will lead to things. :D**

* * *

I drove until, in the middle of nowhere, my bike started running out of gas. When the telltale red icon flashed to life, I pulled over and stashed my bike. No one would fuck it up, but if someone _did_, I'd just beat the shit out of them, shoot them, and take the bike back. Once I was fairly convinced that it was as safe as I could make it, I picked a direction and walked in it.

I walked for a short while until I found a town. Luckily, this town was a dive, which was exactly what I needed in order to let off this steam. Now I just needed a bar that was shitty even by _their_ standards, and I'd find the three things I wanted at the moment: alcohol, smack, and ass.

I found the perfect place without too much trouble; I knew it immediately by its lack of windows.

As I breezed in, no one even looked up at me except to check me out before jerking their eyes back to their drink. I didn't look exactly straight, but I _did_ look dangerous, and on the off-chance that I _was_ straight, they knew not to ogle me out for fear of the consequences.

Of course, I'd topped straight guys before. When you look like I do, sexuality is no longer a factor.

Anyway.

I stalked up to the bar and took a stool, placing myself on it as if it were designed for my ass and my ass only. I put an elbow on the bar and instantly owned that, too.

The bartender came up to me, classically cleaning a glass on his filthy apron. I would probably get some kind of strange disease from the tableware in this place. Excellent; maybe it would incubate quickly and kill me in a few days. "What're you having?"

I ordered a drink and then jerked my head at another guy in the bar, one of the guys who had been eying me. "And get him another of whatever he's drinking." 

The bartended, seemingly unsurprised, nodded and did as I requested in record time, and soon the other guy was blinking at the new drink, then at the bartender, and then at me when the bartender gestured this way. I raised my eyebrows expectantly and he came over to me.

"Uh... yeah?" he asked nervously as he sat down on a neighboring stool.

"You look like you're at the state of calm I'm after. Got any left?" Not that I really expected heroin to cool me down any more than it had in the past.

"Of... what?" He was trying for innocence, but that's impossible when you're so high that you can barely form coherent words.

"Fucking heroin, jackass. Fuck, what do you think I mean? Ponies?"

He laughed because he felt like he should. "Yeah, I got some more. You wanna buy?"

"Nope."

His eyes got huge. "You're not-"

"I'm not a damn cop." This guy was thick. That, or it was really good smack, which I definitely wanted. I arched my back in a stretch and watched for his reaction. I got it: he shifted uncomfortably. I was in. "No, fucker, I wanna shoot up with you and then fuck you senseless in an alley or somewhere."

His mouth dropped open. Not that he hadn't done this dance before, but I had a habit of being less subtle about it. He was lucky that I had even bought him a drink, first. Anyway, this way he couldn't claim he hadn't known what I was talking about and try to back out. Not that I would _let_ him back out.

"Uh... yeah... o-okay."

I rolled my eyes, grabbed his hair, and dragged his head to me, tasting blood as his teeth rammed into my lips. I kissed him furiously until I drew more blood from him than he had gotten from me. There. Couldn't have him thinking he was gonna top.

I released him and pushed him back. The rest of the fine patrons in the establishment all looked away from how they had been staring and I smirked, draining my drink. I stood up, lifting an eyebrow at the man whose mouth I had just ravished, and he stumbled up after me. No way would he try to get out of it now. I was surprised he could even stand with that hard-on.

Not paying for the drinks as usual (and who was gonna stop me?), I left the bar out the back door. "Where do you usually do this?" I asked him. What a jackass question.

He blushed and indicated an alley a few blocks to the left.

"Good," I said, and took off to the right. This way, if it were a trap, he was now out of his secured zone and into mine.

I took him back to where my bike was, not saying a word to him until we arrived. "Drugs first," I ordered.

Obediently (and oh how I loved obedience), he pulled out a syringe. "Only got one." 

"Doesn't really matter, since I'll be fucking you in a minute." And again, untreated AIDS was an interesting way to die.

A mixture of excitement and fear crossed his increasingly easily-read features, and he hurriedly prepared it, offering it to me the moment he was done. Good boy. He was high enough already anyway.

I shot and instantly went loose as the chemicals flew though my blood and straight to my brain. Apparently they went straight to my dick, too, because the next words out of my mouth were, "Strip."

There was no foreplay. Foreplay is something you do with someone you actually give a damn about, one way or another. I didn't care about this schmuck and he didn't care about me, either, so, when we were both naked, I simply grabbed him by the back of the neck, moved him to my bike, bent him face-first over it, stuck a few fingers up his ass in a vague semblance of preparation, and slammed into him.

I could tell he had done this before, just as I suspected, because he didn't do more than cringe when I did it dry. I knew from experience that that hurts like hell, and I didn't envy him. Didn't pity him either, of course. You should be able to tell just by looking at me what kind of fuck I would be.

His pained panting became gasps of pleasure as I worked on him. "Come on my bike and I'll kill you where you stand," I growled in his ear. I felt him nod and was satisfied that he believed me. I eventually came _myself_ with nothing more than a clenching of teeth, the drugs in my system heightening the familiar sensation. As soon as I was done, I tossed him off my bike and onto the ground. 

Damn, he was still hard enough to hunt with it.

Yes, I'm an asshole. Yes, I'm in this for my own pleasure only. But I didn't want the rep of bad in bed (or... in alley... whatever). So, as he laid there, a little dazed, I dropped to my hands and knees and skulked over to him. I sucked him off in record time and he screamed some random name as he came in my mouth. I spat it out on him and stood up, got dressed, got to my bike (which he had succeeded in not coming on), got on, and took off, leaving him behind. He had his clothes and he knew the way back to his shithole bar.

I had to get back to work.


	6. Assassination Missions

**Disclaimer: I do not own Death Note or A Christmas Carol.**

**A/N: All right. So, the first time I posted this, the story was failing and I wimped out and just came up with two chapters to wrap it all up. It has bothered me from the moment I posted it, so I'm rewriting it. The story will now be the length it was originally intended to be. It... might take some time, because it's not like I have any ideas now that I didn't have when I gave up, but I have a secret weapon: my friends Alanna and Alli. They are excellent muses. So, would give me a second chance?**

**If so, here's chapter six, version two.**

* * *

Jose scrutinized me as I stood in front of him.

He had begun explaining my next job, a week-long gig, the moment I walked in, but now he was looking at me. Not the way he had been looking at me before, but definitely looking at me. "Are you high?" he asked curiously, studying my dilated pupils.

"Yep," I droned, bored. "Now are you going to give me the file or just keep gazing lovingly into my eyes?"

With a sigh, he passed me the folder. "Anyway, asshole, do this, and you're promoted."

Perfect. I snatched it out of his hand, tucked it under my arm, and went back to my apartment to crash.

**

* * *

**

As much as I despised sleeping, it was something I had to eventually do, so I crawled into my bed and pulled the sheets over my head. This was a habit established a long time ago, as far back as Wammy's. Matt was the only one in the world, besides me, who knew that I couldn't sleep unless I did that. He had spent many a night with me, after sex and sometimes not, curled up, under the sheet which I would have to pull over my head. He never laughed at me for it; on the contrary, he seemed to think it was cute. I never cared what his reason for not laughing at me was as long as he came into my little tent with me.

I lay there, slapping at the invisible bugs on my skin that I knew perfectly well weren't there, shivering, coming down from the drug that had previously made me feel so much better. The high was never long enough, if you ask me. Unfortunately, heroin failed to ever ask me anything, and instead just reduced me to a shuddering, weeping heap of useless, pathetic flesh. I felt barely human, and for the millionth time I wished for Matt.

No, of course I didn't. I didn't want him at all. He was dead weight that I ironically would have had to fight to keep alive, if I brought him with me. He kept me human, and that was exactly what I didn't want; to beat Near, to be L, to stop Kira, I couldn't be human. I had to kill myself inside and be the cold, insane thing I was well on my way to becoming. And the only reason I could do this was Matt. So it was perfect that he wasn't here, and in fact if he showed up I would ask him to leave.

I would. Absolutely.

It was now two in the morning and I had yet to fall completely asleep. The most I had managed was a kind of bewildered, confused doze, where I woke up every few seconds and had the same random, absurd thought over and over again. I knew it didn't make sense and every few seconds in a terrible loop I came to the same conclusion over and over again. It was something about Matt wearing a sombrero for reasons I couldn't even begin to comprehend in my altered state. I was also having a tough time mentally assigning people the correct pronouns, and sometimes I noticed in the middle of a drift that what I was thinking actually made no sense.

The night passed this way, in some kind of drug-and-exhaustion-induced delusion or hallucination, with me waking up in a panic about Matt's sombrero and how hurt he would be if he found out I had dropped it down the stairs to watch its looping glide to the floor, even though I had made sure it landed on the chair every time.

I fell asleep at about six in the morning, and when I woke up at eight the world was at least making some sense again. Well, its usual amount of sense, which really wasn't very much. Anyway, it was time to take a look at that file, which I had been too stoned to really comprehend the night before.

Inside the file were tons of extraordinarily boring details about the man, who was, and this would complicate things a bit, ex-FBI. His name was Sheldon Terrace. He was forty-seven years old. His fatal offense was borrowing money from the Mafia (thus _ex_-FBI) and failing to pay it back. Apparently he had had several chances, and the amount was too big to ignore- enough to start a top-notch restaurant, which he did.

Money, drugs, power, politics. I didn't care what he had done. If my boss wanted him dead, he would be dead. This one might actually take some time, due to the guy's training. Also, he probably suspected that someone was after him, since he was certainly aware that he owned money to the damn _Mafia. _He might even have gone so far as to hire guards, and well-paid guards who are trained _and_ expect a problem are some of the most dangerous creatures on Earth, second only to the heavily armed mother of a kidnapped child.

Not that I couldn't do it. Of course I could do it. It just might take a week instead of twenty-five seconds, and dumbass, suicidal bravery wasn't going to cut it. No matter; I had the skills as well as the madness.

I located the guy without too much trouble. Crouched behind a truck that happened to be making a delivery to his restaurant, I got my first glimpse of him in three dimensions. He was much more attractive in real life, with this kind of rich, old guy charm that I could see through. Beneath the suaveness and gracious smile was his training. I could tell from his stance that he was constantly on guard, even if he had people to do the guarding for him now. Four, to be exact, undercover and very convincing. They could actually be a threat if I let myself get distracted.

But distracted by what? This was everything now, right? There was nothing to let my mind wander to; not Matt's eyes, not his hair, not his taste or the sounds he made when he was writhing beneath me...

Yes, absolutely nothing to distract me.

This ex-FBI guy had a remarkably boring life, if I do say so myself. He spent the entire day at his billion-dollar restaurant, strutting all over the place and bossing his employees around. Judging from their faces, it was likely that _they_ would kill him in the near future if I didn't. This man was despised. Classic asshole that no one would miss. Did Bob cry when Scrooge died in Christmas yet to come? ...Okay, well, yes, he was upset, but most of us aren't as good of people as Bob is, okay?

Anyway.

Terrace was going deeper into the store, where I wouldn't be able to see him from outside. Which meant I had to follow him.

There were several ways to do this. I could just stalk my way in and hope for the best, which, if it worked, would impress the Mafia guy who had been following me for the last two hours to grade my performance and kill me if I fucked up or tried, for some reason, to warn Terrace. I could also pose as a customer. The problem with that is that I wasn't anywhere near close to dressed for that. I would stand out too much in my leather at a place as fancy as that. It would be good for when I actually killed him, though- I could be undercover! Cool.

So I was going to have to sneak in without taking my eyes off of him with four guards watching for someone doing exactly that.

How hard could that possibly be?

My luck held: the guards, instead of staying put at the entrance or splitting up like they should, followed him into the back. Maybe they weren't as well trained as I had originally thought they were. Well, that was a damned good thing, because really I'd had no fucking idea how I was going to do the job if they were, although I was fairly confident that I would find a way.

Pleased, I just walked right into the building.

After a few more hours, I absolutely could _not_ believe my eyes. These guards were obviously not trained at _all_, let alone the top-notch dicks they needed to be: they let Sheldon go into the bathroom alone.

It was looking like I wasn't even going to need two days to complete this assignment.

I wandered in after him and the idiots didn't even glance at me, even though I looked like the crazy-dangerous guy I was.

Once I was in the bathroom, though, I found the Terrace wasn't in a stall or at a urinal. He was leaning with his back to a sink, looking right at me.

I gave him a funny look and tried to head for one of the stalls, but Terrace spoke up.

"I know what you're doing here."

I didn't even pause. "Taking a shit? Whatever, man." I raised my eyebrows and snorted out an 'awkward' laugh.

"You're been following me all day."

"Don't flatter yourself, buddy."

"You're with the Mafia, and you're here to collect, or kill me if I refuse."

No point in playing dumb anymore, I stopped, turned around, and gave him the coldest, craziest smile I could muster. He inhaled sharply but didn't move.

"Almost," I said at monotone. Calmly, in no hurry since he was trapped against the wall and a quick scan told me there were no trap doors or anything, I brought out my gun.

"Almost?" he asked, stalling for time. Not a problem; I had a week.

"No 'collect' option."

"I see." The poor man didn't even have a weapon.

"You should have gotten better-trained guards. It might have bought you a day or two."

"They're just actors. My cousin has a troupe."

"Ah."

And with that, the conversation was over, and I shot him in the head and walked back out.


	7. Promotions

**Disclaimer: I do not own Death Note.**

**A/N: I hope I'm doing better. I know that FF won't let you review a chapter that previously existed, was removed, and then was reposted, so maybe send me a message if you have strong feelings either way? I'll keep writing regardless, but I'd like to know that I'm doing okay. *sweatdrop***

* * *

I reported back to base that same day despite the fact that I could have technically had six days off, striding in the door as if I didn't know about the 'special stipulation' Jose was going to assign. It was sad that I was stone cold sober and would remember this better than I remembered what's-his-face on my bike, which was actually at least somewhat hot.

Not that I hadn't done this before, but still. I doubted I would enjoy it; Jose smelled like piss.

However, I would do anything. Whatever it took.

So I came back to the shitty little base, handing a lock of Sheldon's hair to Jose. He looked at it, then looked at me. "Already?" he asked.

I just stared at him. "Did you honestly expect that to take me a week? It was just a washed-up FBI dick and four guards." I tastefully left out the part about them not being _trained_ as guards.

He smirked. "Nice," he said, genuinely impressed. Apparently my shadow had yet to come report that I had, in fact, already completed the mission. Maybe he assumed that I'd take the six days off. It would be awkward (and probably fatal) for him when he came back to find that he was six days behind.

Jose didn't seem to be bringing up the 'extra task,' which gave me a quick glimmer of hope that I wouldn't have to do it. This hope was instantly squashed when he sat down on one of the couches, legs out just a little too far, and tossed his arms over the back of it.

"So, about that promotion," he said lightly, running a hand over his thigh, squeezing.

"Yeah, yeah," I grumbled, rolling my eyes. I walked over to him and climbed up onto his lap, straddling him on my knees. I put my elbows on his shoulders and grabbed his hair, bringing his face up to meet mine. "How do you want it?" I breathed onto his face.

He smirked, understandably pleased that this was going to go his way without a fight. I was semi-willing putty in his hands.

Lip curling in a way that made me shudder (not from attraction), he sneered, "Ride me, fucker."

Well, I would still be on top.

I smiled slowly, seductively, letting my hands slide down his chest, tilting my head to devour his neck. If I could leave explicit enough marks, maybe the Mafia would somehow figure out he was a fag and shoot him. Ideally, they would connect the marks to me and shoot me as well. I bit down hard, drawing blood, and he moaned, taking my hands and shoving them into his pants. I tried not to cringe at the fact that he was already mostly hard. At least I wouldn't have to use my mouth, then. Instead, I made a circle out of my fingers and squeezed. His head fell back at the contact and he thrust up into my hand, grunting like he was some kind of caveman. Disgusting. I even _liked_ dicks and it was _still_ disgusting. And I was going to have to _sit_ on that.

Forcing the thought out of my mind, I removed my hands from his pants and took them to the hem of his shirt, attempting to lift it. There was dominance in wearing more clothes than the other person. He slapped my hand away and shook his head, panting. "No way. _You_ strip."

I rolled my eyes and leisurely, erotically unzipped my shirt and slid it off, then unlaced my pants. I wasn't wearing underwear, which I saw him notice with an aroused groan. "So, all of this," I said, gesturing vaguely to what we were doing as I unzipped his jeans, easing out his already-pulsing penis. "Little unorthodox for the Mafia, wouldn't you say?"

I squeezed out of my pants, lifting up so he could tear them off of me. He tried to respond as I captured his lips in a brutal parody of a kiss, and as I lined my ass up with his dick. "Um... yeah," he managed, barely. Incoherence? Boost to the self-esteem, there. I dropped down on him, hard, which tore me up, but it was worth it for the way his eyes went huge and how his hands clenched on my hips and how he moaned. _"Fuck!_" he gasped, gritting his teeth. Yeah, I'm good, I know.

I didn't let my extreme pain show on my face as I lifted up again and landed, harder. His head came down on my shoulder as he tried to get his breathing under control. "Damn it, Mello, fuck, _fuck_."

"I'm better when it's _my_ dick getting wet," I assured him at a purr, roughly pushing down on his shoulders to lift myself up.

He tensed in anticipation but I removed myself from him, feeling nothing but satisfaction when he barely contained a whine. I didn't need to top to dominate.

I shoved him off when he tried to get me back on him. If I was going to do this, I might as well enjoy it at least a _little_ bit. Plus, the harder I could get him _before _he was in me, the shorter the length of time he would _spend_ in me.

So I started jerking myself off. Right in front of him.

If it was possible for him to get any harder, he did, watching me do that. He reached to take over and this time _I_ swatted _him_, never ceasing in the exaggerated pleasured faces and little moans. When I was sweating and not faking the sounds anymore, I got back on him and rode him, hard, harder, until I found the spot that made it good for me as well and concentrated my efforts there.

I could tell he was close, so I sped up and pumped myself. The combination of the increased speed and the image of me coming on my own hand sent him over the edge with a cry.

He fucked into me until he had nothing more to give, and the moment it was over I got off him. Glancing at the clock, I saw that the whole thing had taken about seven minutes, flaccid to spent. I'm so fuckin' amazing. I made sure he could see _everything_ when I bent down to collect my tossed-away clothes. I dressed quickly, ignoring the bloody cum leaking out of my ass and the stabbing pain from where I had allowed myself to be torn apart. I'd had it _so_ much worse.

He could form words again. "If... If you t-tell anyone about that, I'll k-kill you," he panted, still hanging out and limp on the couch. This was disgusting and pathetic to me for some reason, even if it stroked my ego, so I stalked up to him and put him back in his pants, far from gently. He flinched at the pain, but he was already getting excited again at just my touch.

"If you give me the promotion you promised, I won't _need_ to tell anyone." I hope it hurt his feelings that I wasn't even out of breath, while he was still unable to move.

"As soon as I can feel my body again," he promised me.

"Good," I said icily.

And so, promoted and fucked- literally- I went home.

* * *

**A/N: I know. Ew. Not Matt. Believe me, it was even gross to write it. But just wait, lovelies. :D**


	8. Fire

**Disclaimer: I do not own Death Note or Will and Grace.**

**A/N: HI! :D No lemon in this one! Which is good, because there's still no Matt. XD I promise he'll eventually show up. This IS under romance.**

* * *

Home sweet hellhole. I kicked off my leather boots and tossed my vest over the back of my single kitchen chair, dragging my aching, bare (I owned no socks) feet over the suspiciously-stained rag that passed as a carpet only if you were drunk off your ass _and_ had never seen a proper carpet before.

Exhausted, I plopped down on the couch that was in an even worse state, flinching and biting my lip when pain shot through my torn-up asshole. Poor, abused asshole. Well, it was entirely my fault. Me and my damn obsession with doing whatever it took to get Rod Ross's position.

Absently, I flipped on my tiny television, limping through the channels until I found something tolerable- some mindless sitcom about a gay guy who lived with an obnoxious redheaded straight chick with an ironic name. I watched it for a minute, but nothing was registering so I wandered to the kitchen and poured myself a drink. I drained it, poured another, put the bottle back, then thought better of putting the bottle back and brought it with me.

I returned to the TV and tried to lose myself in the meaningless drivel, but I knew it was the alcohol that I was succeeding in losing myself in.

Sometimes I really hated myself. Sometimes I was fine with myself too, of course. Sometimes I thought I was pretty fucking awesome. But those other times, the times like these?

Times like these, I wondered what I had done with my life. When there was no one around me, I didn't have to play it cool (play it _cold_) and I could actually stop and _think_ about what I had just done. I had just murdered a guy. An unarmed guy guarded by oblivious actors. I had murdered _many_ guys, many of them also unarmed. What would God have to say about that? If I died right now and I stood in front of the Pearly Gates and Saint Peter asked me why I thought I deserved to walk on in, I wouldn't have a single thing to say. The only _good_ thing I'd ever done in my life- love Matt, protect Matt- I had thrown out the window. And even then, if the Old Testament were to be believed, it was a sinful love anyway. It wouldn't be the thing to advertise.

And yet, for some reason I was still allowed to exist on this Earth, when I sincerely didn't deserve it and didn't really even want to, anymore. I hadn't _wanted_ to be alive since I left behind the only thing I had to live for.

I took out my gun, removing the safety and placing it on my lap. Was it bad that I wanted to pick it up and end it, or was that to be expected from someone like me- someone who had done the things that I had done and would be doing more of them in the future? If you knew you had a one way ticked to Hell, would you try to live as long as possible to avoid it, or would you just get it over with? What difference would thirty or forty or sixty or eighty more years make, when all that waited for you was an eternity of fire?

Not that this life was anything to scream about. Not in a positive way, anyway.

I picked up the gun, examining the barrel. There was something about guns that was just beautiful, in a fucked-up way. They were so shiny and black. So little, but they could do so much damage with such a little amount of effort exerted on the part of the person holding them. They could destroy things. They could kill people. They could even kill the person _holding_ the gun.

I put it to my temple, the cold steel biting into my skin as a preview of what the bullet would do if I gave it a chance. I pressed it in, making the area ache. It would be so easy.

Easy, clean, quick.

I cocked it, removed it from myself, aimed it at my television, and fired.

The TV exploded in a brilliant crash of glass and sparks and wire and plastic and metal. I watched in fascination as it burst into flame, making no move to stop it as my carpet caught.

Unfortunately, one of the few things that _did_work in this hovel was the fire alarm (the landlord didn't want all the drug addicts in this place making meth and accidentally burning the place down when, as they were prone to, their chemicals spontaneously combusted), which I discovered because it decided to start screaming at full volume. I let the shriek continue while I sat on my couch, sipping from my re-re-re-re-re-re-re-re-refilled glass and hoping that it would burn everyone living here to a crisp, myself first and foremost.

My neighbors must have assumed that there was no one home, however, because suddenly two people were bashing into my apartment (the locks sucked), breaking down my door and running in with fire extinguishers.

When they saw me sitting there, calmly watching the fire, they stopped for a moment and stared. Then one of them noticed the alcohol. Not knowing that the alcohol had nothing to do with it (I wasn't drunk enough yet for my decisions to be _that_ seriously inhibited, although I was on my way), one of the men shouted over his shoulder, "He's okay. He's drunk; someone get him out of here!"

Two more people rushed in (why the cavalry to save a place like this?) and grabbed me under my arms. I decided to just go with it instead of shooting them. One of them said, "Hey, he's... got a gun, guys..."

"Take it away from him," the first guy with the fire extinguisher said. "He's drunk."

The two people who were lifting me nodded and one of them, the one who hadn't yet spoken, disarmed me, flicking the safety back on and stuffing it down the back of his pants (gotta love having neighbors who know how to handle a gun). I didn't know why, but I let him. Maybe I _was_ drunk.

"It's okay, man, we got you," the guy on my right said kindly as they carried/dragged me out of the room. The two guys with the fire extinguishers were going to town with the white foam. It was amazing how quickly the fire had moved on to my carpet and my walls.

"You're gonna be fine," the guy on my left said.

Did they really think it was an accident? That I was some innocent victim of a freak exploding-TV accident? Well, if they did, I sure as hell wasn't going to correct them. More importantly, did all four of these men- people who didn't know me from Adam- really rush down here to _save_ me? Did they think that, because it was two in the morning, I might be trapped in my bedroom, burning to death? How bad was it that that didn't sound too unpleasant?

I laughed a bit. "Should have let me burn."

But they didn't hear me. They just continued dragging me until we were out of the building.

Outside, residents were huddled around, almost everyone in their pajamas.

A woman was walking around with a clipboard. I had never seen her before.

"Is everyone accounted for?" she was asking in a loud voice. "101?"

"All here," a man's voice called out in response.

She scribbled something on her clipboard. "102?"

"They're out of town," someone from way in the back shouted.

"103's empty. 104?"

As they brought me out to join the rest of the crowd, the woman turned to look at me. "Apartment number?"

One of the men answered for me. "407." Then, nudging me, he asked, "Hey, does anyone live with you?"

I shook my head, and the woman nodded, making a mark. Then she focused on the men holding me up. "Have Jerry and Mike figured out where the fire is?"

I noticed her teeth for the first time. Meth addict, probably a dealer but definitely not a manufacturer. She must live here, too. And she was taking attendance? How did she even _have_ this list? She wasn't the landlord. The apartment wasn't that big, just four floors with about ten rooms on each floor, but still. A list?

I stopped paying attention as the guys on my right and left (heretofore to be referred to as Right and Left) explained that the fire had started in my room, and that these 'Jerry' and 'Mike' people had it under control.

All I could think was, _they came after me_?

I could absolutely not figure out why.

I interrupted Meth Addict, Left, and Right to say, "Why?"

Okay, so I was drunker than I thought.

They all looked at me. "Why what?"

"Why are you doing this? Normal people would just evacuate and wait for the fire department."

She grimaced. "Yes, but they're not exactly coming for us, are they?" It was true. The streets were silent. No one was even stopping to gawk.

"So why are you out here with your clipboard?" I slurred. Yeah, definitely drunk. "Making sure everyone gets out. Figuring out if there's anyone stuck inside. Who cares?"

She shrugged. "_I_ do, I guess."

The two guys from earlier- Jerry and Mike- came out of the building. They looked relieved.

"It's out," they sighed.

And for some reason I couldn't fathom, everyone cheered. A few people even kissed like it was fucking New Year's or something. Wait, was it? ...No, it wasn't.

Everyone started to file back into the building and I found myself being passed off to someone I recognized as being the person who lived in 408, my hooker next-door neighbor, and she led me to my apartment on the way to hers. I expected her to drop me off, but the room was charred to a crisp. She took one look at it (through the bashed-in door) and kept walking, taking me to her apartment.

"Get some sleep, 407," she told me, indicating her bed. Her bed? "I have to work tonight," she added quietly.

I nodded blearily and she gently sat me down and pushed on my shoulder until I was on my back. I didn't want to, but, without my consent, my body obeyed.

* * *

**A/N: Don't worry, I'm not gonna make the hooker a main character, nor is Mello going to have an affair with her.**


	9. Driver's Side of the Camero

**Disclaimer: I do not own Death Note or McDonalds.**

**Unimportant A/N: So, you know the music in Death Note, of course. It's amazing music. There's a song that sounds like a Gregorian chant that often plays when Light is doing Kira-ish stuff. I mostly ignored it, just thinking 'yay a Gregorian chant.' (Catholics like Gregorian chants). Then I got the soundtrack and heard the words but couldn't understand what they were saying, so I decided to look it up. I froze when I saw the lyrics. "Kyrie eleison, Christe eleison" over and over again. Which, as many of you know, means 'Lord have mercy, Christ have mercy.' Whether you believe in that stuff or not, you have to admit that that's a scary, haunting thing for the background music to be saying over and over and over and over and over as this boy we've seen fall murders people and destroys his soul more and more. Just another way in which Death Note is amazing. **

* * *

I woke up alone in a hooker's bed with a terrible headache and very little memory of how I had gotten there.

Sadly, it was not the first time I could honestly say that.

All I knew was that I hadn't _hired_ this hooker (female), and I remembered a fire and people saving me from it. Had I been saved from a fire by a hooker? I bet not a lot of people can say they've had that experience.

Ignoring the agony that was my head, I sat up, getting a closer look at my surroundings. Her apartment was actually worse than mine. I was barely _in _mine, so it didn't have time to acquire clutter. She apparently spent quite a bit of time here. Alcohol bottles covered every surface, and when I checked the floor I saw what could only be described as filth. More bottles (lots more bottles) mixed in with fast food wrappers that were probably cemented to the floor. Upon even _closer_ inspection, I noticed that the flood wrappers had flies buzzing around them, and that the crud itself was actually in layers carefully separated by newspaper. There was also a little path winding through the small mountains, so I followed it and found myself in her kitchen.

To my surprise, she was there. If her clock was right, though, it was already ten so I shouldn't have been caught off guard. She was standing, profile towards me, her 'work clothes' still on (if I was straight that short of a skirt would probably have been enticing), frowning at her kitchen table and holding a McDonalds bag. She couldn't find a free space on the table to put the bag down on, it was so cluttered with trash and grime and bottles.

She saw me standing there and smiled at me tiredly. "If my ex-mother-in-law ever saw the state of this place, she would have rubbed it in my face and then died happy." She shrugged and, with her whole forearm, shoved everything off the table. Some of the bottles shattered upon coming into contact with the bottles that were already on the floor.

She stepped over the shards and cleared two of the three mismatching chairs in the same method. She didn't seem to notice (or, maybe, she just didn't care) that her arm was now bleeding.

The prostitute sat down on one of the chairs and reached into the McDonalds bag, withdrawing a breakfast sandwich. She reached in again and took out another, placing it in front of the chair across from her. She gestured between me and the sandwich with her head, already tearing into her own, and I took the seat.

It smelled wonderful. It was probably the closest thing to real food that I'd had in at least a week.

I ate it more slowly than she did, savoring it.

"So, 407. How are you feeling?" Her breath- all of her really, including her home- reeked of alcohol. A few years ago, I would have been disgusted. Not anymore. It's hard to be disgusted when she's just you, inverted. Prostitute instead of murderer, alcohol instead of chocolate and heroin and (unpaid) one night stands, and the mess on the outside instead of all on the inside.

"Been better," I said, taking a bite and chewing carefully. "Been worse, too."

"That's all you can really ask for," she replied agreeably. She had already finished her sandwich, crumpling up the wrapper and, after glancing around, simply leaving it on the table. There really was nowhere else to put it, anyway.

"Hey," she said more seriously. "I looked at your apartment again on the way home from work. Do you have someplace you can go?"

"Oh, yeah," I lied. "My aunt lives not too far from here. She's a real estate fanatic. Weird, I know, but it comes in handy at times like these."

"Okay, good. Because I was thinking... you know, it's hard for people like us. I thought maybe, if you didn't have a place to go, you could stay here. I know some goods spots that I bet even you don't know. Spots for guys, too, not just girls."

It took me a minute but I eventually figured out that she thought I was a prostitute. "I'm not a hooker," I said blankly. I added under my breath, "Technically."

She went pale. "Oh! Shit, I'm sorry. It was the leather. Sorry, I'm sorry." She calmed down a bit when I didn't start yelling at her or beating her up or something. "It's good," she said sincerely, looking at me closely.

"What's good?"

"That you're not like me."

I laughed before I could stop myself. "408, you're a daydream compared to me."

A quick, quirky smile crossed her lips, but she didn't ask.

I stood, bottles clinking as I pushed my chair back. "Thank you for the food, and for keeping me for the night. I have to get to my aunt's house. I'm sure Sammy called her about the fire and she must be worried sick."

She nodded. "Have a nice life, 407."

"Yeah."

As soon as I was out of her apartment, I ran back to mine, propping up behind me what was left of the door and tearing through the front room area and going straight to my bedroom, which was still largely intact. The whole damn building was probably condemned, anyway. Did a little fire damage really matter? This place didn't even require security deposits.

I found my depressingly small stash of heroin and inhaled, loving the prickles that took over my brain and the way my muscles relaxed.

But I couldn't shake the feeling.

She was nice and I didn't know how to handle it.

**

* * *

**

I went in to work early the next day and reported to my new boss before anyone else even arrived. This guy was tall and black, with long cornrows and a very strange string of puke-green beads around his neck.

"Hey, Crazy Fuck. Heard a lot about you," he drawled in a very deep voice.

Nice nickname. I would allow that one. "Heard nothing about you," I replied easily. "What's your name?"

"Richard Head."

"Seriously?"

"Yep."

"Whatever. Jose said you have a job for me."

A matter of ten minutes later, I was out the door on the way to the address where my hit was to take place. It seemed like I was doing a lot of assassinations, lately, but I would be the last one to complain: at the moment I was able to delete my conscience so it was all A-OK.

It was a fairly decent apartment complex, and my target's name was Alison Schweda. She was a cooking teacher or something and whatever she had done was bad enough to warrant death. I couldn't imagine how a cooking teacher could invoke the wrath of the Mafia, but it wasn't really my problem and, to be frank, I couldn't possibly care less. To room 331 I now go.

Except, I found I was unable to move.

Because just as I turned the corner on my bike and pulled into the apartment complex's parking lot, I saw Matt leaving the apartment.

I almost fell off my bike but managed to pull into a parking spot, keeping my helmet securely on so that he wouldn't recognize me. Except this person wouldn't recognize me, even if I had my helmet off, because there was no way it was him. It _couldn't_ be him. We were only five minutes away from my own apartment building. How could he have come from England to LA and just gotten _that_ close, totally on accident? So it couldn't be him.

But when I watched him walking towards the parking lot I was currently parked in, I knew without a doubt that it _was_ him.

Brilliant red hair, so thin, stripes, cigarette clamped between his lips, PSP in his back pocket, same goggles. He hadn't changed at all.

He even walked the same, and I couldn't take my eyes off him as he got closer and closer. He had always had this unassuming, slightly lumbering gait, and it hadn't changed in the two years we had been apart. I knew he didn't recognize me, but he kept walking towards me and I was getting nervous.

Moving quickly would just call attention to me, however, and seeing me move would increase the likeliness of him recognizing me. I had changed everything about me including how I walked, of course, but this was Matt. He was perceptive when it came to me.

So I sat calmly on my motorcycle, pretending to be fiddling with the mechanics of it when really I was just trying to get my heart rate to calm down.

I couldn't talk to him. I couldn't. I absolutely couldn't reveal myself or it would all be over. Not only would it ruin my career, but it would instantly put him in more danger than I could even describe.

My pulse was so loud in my ears that it made my head spin. I caught my breath and struggled to exhale, my mind clouding with blood and only offering one thought on some kind of loop: _Don't let him know._

He must have found me by putting that brilliant hacker brain to use.

He kept coming until he reached the bright red Camero next to me. I had a mini cargasm in my mind that I thankfully managed to keep to myself. Matt had a Camero? Since when? And how did he afford a Camero?

Again, hacker.

Why did I have to be parked on the driver's side of this Camero? He was so close to me, I could literally reach out and touch him. I could see him _breathing_.

He had his 'need new video games' face on, which meant that he was going to the nearest video game store and would be there for most of the day making careful decisions. I could follow him. I could do it without him noticing, and I could watch him focus on his choices and love, from afar, how I couldn't see his eyes when he bowed his head to read the back of the game box. I could watch him make the little camp he made in the video store with three or four different piles of games and him in the middle, sorting them and making his decision. I could glare the owner of the game store into submission like I always did, so that he would let him practically take the place over for the day. And then I could follow him back to his apartment. Just make sure he was safe and happy.

There wasn't even a point in pretending I was over him anymore.

Damn it.

* * *

**A/N: Matt sighting! :D**


	10. Breaking and Entering

**Disclaimer: I do not own Death Note or FedEx.**

**A/N: Lalala...**

And then he was in his car and gone. I watched until it disappeared.

Inspiration struck. Before I even consciously decided to do so, I ran into the apartment building and to the second floor. Choosing a door at random, I knocked on it furiously. It flung open and a panicked-looking guy stood in the doorway. "What's going on?"

"Hello?" I said, successfully sounding out of breath because I had sprinted up a flight of steps. "Is Matt there?"

"...No? Dude, I think you have the wrong apartment. Are you okay?"

I cursed. "Yeah, _I'm_ fine, but I need to tell Matt about our dad... do you know him? Matt, I mean? Because I really need to talk to him. Right now." I peered into the room. "Are you sure he's not here? We're estranged, but I don't think he would lie about his apartment number... that's going pretty far..."

"No, I don't even know this guy. And you're sure you've got the right apartment building? There's another one right next door."

"Positive. I checked like three times. Damn it, I told him a million times I was... I've gotta talk to him before our dad... they need a chance to make up, too, or Matt will never forgive himself when he finds out... _damn_ it... Maybe I have the wrong floor...?"

"Look. Stay right there, I'll call my landlord and see if there's a Matt. What's his last name?"

"Jeevas," I supplied.

"Okay. Stay right there."

He closed the door and I heard his footsteps go deeper into the apartment. He returned a few minutes later, opening the door. "Apartment 714," he told me in a rush. "There's a Matt Jeevas in apartment 714."

I sighed in fake-but-very-convincing relief. "Thank you so much. You have no idea how good of a thing you just did." I started to turn, then paused. "Oh. If you ever meet Matt, don't tell him you saw me. Don't even ask about how our dad is. Matt's kind of..." I gestured at my head, "unstable, if you know what I mean."

The guy nodded. "Got it. Good luck, man. Hope it works out for you."

I nodded back and left.

As soon as I was out of earshot, I broke into a run. My blood was primarily adrenalin so I knew that the elevator would probably kill me and I took the stairs instead.

At apartment 714, I screeched to a stop. I tried the door, which was locked. Luckily this didn't make a difference to me because I had yet to meet a lock I couldn't get into. If all else failed I would break down his door and leave an envelope with money to fix it.

After a little fiddling, I managed to get into the room without resorting to destroying his property. As soon as the door was open, I was struck with the scent of Matt. Cigarettes, a shampoo he liked because its bottle reminded him of something from a game, and something else that I'd never been able to identify. Just _Matt_.

Reverently, I stepped into his front room. His apartment was much nicer than mine, which meant that he had been hacking his way into money. It had a bedroom, a bathroom, a sitting room, and an actual carpet. There weren't even any stains or holes in the walls. I closed the door behind me and padded quietly in, trying not to break the silence as I took a seat on his couch. There was an indent in the cushion that was most directly in front of the huge TV. So this is where Matt spent most of his day. I looked to my right and saw a bunch of computer equipment that was over even _my_ head.

I leaned forward and picked up one of the remotes (it was white and long and thin, I believe it was a 'Wii' remote) and just held it, pointing it at the screen. Matt.

I put it down exactly where he had left it (if it moved more than about two inches he would _absolutely_ notice), and headed for his kitchen. There was a layer of dust over everything, which was pretty funny. I opened his pantry to find stacks upon stacks of Ramen, the poor man's best friend.

Finally, his bedroom. The door was already open a crack so I just pushed it all the way and entered.

It was simple, but at the same time it was so incredibly Matt.

For example, there were two piles of (mostly striped) clothes on the floor- one for clean and one for dirty. I checked the closet and it was, of course, filled to the brim with console carrying cases and overflow games. I closed the closet and tried to ignore the tears stinging at my eyes. His game chargers were meticulously laid out so that the cords weren't even tangled, even though there were like five of them. There was an ashtray on an end table and standard-white sheets with one pillow on his unmade bed. One clock, which I guarantee wasn't set to an alarm.

That was all. No pictures, no artwork, no random knickknacks, no glass of water, just pure _Matt_.

I climbed onto his bed and put my face in his pillow, inhaling. Yep, he was still using the same shampoo.

And then the tears that were stinging at my eyes ceased to sting and just came out full-force. I knew I had to get off his bed or he would smell me on it (chocolate, at least, even if he wouldn't be familiar with the leather), but I simply couldn't force myself to stand. Instead I lay there and cried, pathetically, soaking his pillow which would _also_ probably make him suspicious if it didn't dry by the time he next lay down on it.

Matt had followed me. He had tracked me- which, by the way, was nearly impossible- and found out I had gone to LA. And then he had followed me. Judging from his setup at this place, he had been here for a while. How soon after I left had _he_ left? And if he was here, why didn't he contact me?

Because, I realized, the trail had gone cold. I had made very sure to completely cover myself before I joined the Mafia, and even Matt hadn't managed to narrow it down to my apartment number, yet. Give him time. Soon, he would figure everything out and he'd show up at my door, grinning around his cigarette, his eyes hidden behind his goggles... I sobbed, hard.

Wait! No! What was he thinking, following me here? Didn't he realize that I'd left him behind for a reason? Damn it, he would just get in the way, not to mention how dangerous this was! He could be killed just as easily as I could, _especially_ as I went up through the ranks! Didn't it sound dangerous to be the gay lover of a Mafia guy? Did he have any idea how many homophobes with guns were in the Mafia? I rolled over and sat straight up, wiping my eyes roughly with the back of my hand, putting my stone face back on so that my nose wouldn't be red by the time I reached the base. I had to get out of here, and I had to get out of here now. I couldn't let his closeness change anything. He might as well still be in England for all it mattered. I wondered if he still had his accent or if he had deleted it like I had.

Damn it!

I jumped out of his bed and literally ran out of his room and to the floor where my hit was supposed to be. The guy was asleep for whatever reason, so slitting his throat was easy and quiet. Then I hauled ass out of there and all the way back to the shithole base.

I had to get away from him before I changed my mind and ran straight into his arms.


	11. Bombs

**Disclaimer: I do not own Death Note or Lethal Weapon.**

**A/N: I have nothing to say... ho hum. Oh! Wait! When you get to the part in this chapter and the next chapter where the grammar is bad/the words are garbled, it's supposed to be like that. :) There! I came up with something; aren't you proud of me?**

* * *

My next assignment was, if possible, even simpler than my previous ones, except this time I had a team that I had to manage. They were all of a much lower rank than me- which felt fucking amazing- and they looked at me with this newbie terror in their eyes the moment Richard Head (I'm never gonna get over that name...) led them into the room with me.

Head gestured at me. "Crazy Fuck. Call him that or 'sir,' and he probably won't shoot you," he told my men.

I smiled at them politely, letting just a bit of the crazy leak through into my eyes.

"John, Tim, and Dennis," he continued. He pointed at each one in turn. "Crazy Fuck is in charge. Between the four of you, I want you to map out the old meth-production warehouse by the river. You know which one I'm talking about?"

I nodded.

"Good. Sneak around, map it out, _don't_ let the workers or the guards see you, and get back here."

"All right. Let's go." I started to follow behind my men, but once they were out the door, Richard stopped me by grabbing my arm.

I stared at his hand on my arm until he let go, going a little bit pale despite himself.

"What?" I demanded, finally raising my eyes to look at him.

He produced a little trigger-looking device and handed it to me. "You have another objective."

I waited for him to explain, not giving him the satisfaction of my asking.

"I want you to blow up the warehouse. The factory is taking our business and they won't come over to our side, so they have to be eliminated. The place is ready to blow anyway. Get in the main area, get a look around, get out before your guys have a chance to, and press that button. The place is already rigged. I want _you _to get out, but if _they're_ still inside when you blow it up-"

"No one will think we did it on purpose and the rest of their cartel won't come after us. Yes, I'm not an idiot," I snapped. "Now can I _go_? They're gonna start to wonder where their damn boss is."

Richard gave me a funny look but nodded, this time not grabbing me when I walked out the door.

**

* * *

**

It was pitch dark and freezing cold, and everyone was wearing a coat but me, stamping their feet to try to keep the circulation flowing. My brain was going numb although I didn't show it, and I was glad when I could start barking orders.

"Tim, you go around the back. Dennis and John, you come in through the roof. I've got the front door. Don't get caught, because we'll just leave you. Get back out here as soon as you've mapped the sections I assigned each of you in the car."

They rushed in, eager to get out of the cold, and, more than that, afraid that I would kill them if they _didn't_ rush in.

I followed more slowly. According to the blueprint Richard had put in the car we used, the part I needed to get a mental layout of (I assumed so that we could imitate their incredibly-effective production methods) wasn't very far back in the building. They relied on their abandoned-building façade for protection. Drug addicts aren't known for their well-thought-out planning abilities.

As quietly as possible, I opened the large double doors, squeezing myself through the smallest gap I could. I was so skinny that, as long as I could get my head through, the rest of my body would be able to follow. It's amazing what a few months in the Mafia will do to you.

Or really, it's amazing what _murder_ will do to you.

Shaking away that thought, I crept in, getting as low as possible and slinking around the huge piles of broken crates and startling a rat which dashed across my path. I got lower and, keeping cover behind all the rotting debris present, weaved my way into what I knew to be the main production area.

It was just a bunch of stoves, big stoves, but simple stoves nonetheless. There were about five people milling around them and adding various chemicals. There was a long, thin table that held the containers of these ingredients. From where I stood, I could absolutely not see what made them more effective than anyone else. They looked like your garden-variety meth-producers to me.

That wouldn't be an acceptable answer to bring back, though, so I had to get closer.

These people were probably high on their own stuff, so I had to be extra quiet and still to combat their heightened senses, or they'd definitely spot me. I inched closer, still unable to see any sort of special procedures or an assembly line or anything. What made these people special? Did they just have special skills?

I leaned forward from behind a fallen beam, squinting, trying to figure out what these people had that no one else had, when suddenly I felt a hand grab the back of my neck.

I managed to spin around and get my hand to my gun's holster before he pointed _his_ gun at my forehead and ordered, "Stop moving."

I obeyed immediately, dropping my hand and relaxing my stance.

"What are you doing here?"

I just stared at him. Not that I was that loyal to the Mafia; I just didn't want to tell_ this_ dick anything.

"Get on your knees," he growled.

This was a relief, as the twisted-around position I had previously been in was extraordinarily uncomfortable.

He just stared at me, as if he didn't know what to do next. Odds were, he'd never even pointed a gun at someone before.

I looked up from my knees at him. "Do it," I told him in my best dead man's monotone.

This, he clearly did not expect. He visibly faltered, lowering his weapon a fraction of an inch.

"_Do it_," I insisted. "Please. Blow my damn brains out."

Now he just looked confused. I could tell he was trying to figure out if this was bravado or if I was insane or if I was pulling a Lethal Weapon. And he still wasn't shooting me. It couldn't continue like this.

"I'm not messing with you, I'm not trying to trick you, I just want you to pull the fucking trigger on the fucking gun and paint the fucking wall with my fucking dura mater," I said calmly. He moved to retract his weapon but I grabbed it by the butt and pressed it back into my forehead, hard, staring into his brown eyes. "Please," I added gently. "_Do_ it." I reached up and removed the safety for him.

He shook his head slowly and lowered his gun.

A few of his coworkers heard me, heard the click of the safety, and came to see what was going on.

I had no choice. This man was definitely not going to kill me, no matter how much I begged him to.

I looked at the little contraption attached to my wrist, whispered, "I'm sorry, Matt," and squeezed the button that triggered the bombs.

* * *

I open

ed my eyeslater

I wasn't dead

but

o

w

Everyinchofme

hurted hurthurthurthurthurthurt somuchhurted

andIwasn't

realy

think-ing

strait

atall

AllI new (w)as

wasthat everythinghurt

and thet the world

whas going

blak.


	12. Professional Nurses

****

Disclaimer: I do not own Death Note.

**A/N: Yes, I'm using a lot of the original for these parts, but I'm adding a ton of stuff too. :) Please don't make fun of me for this chapter. It's really hard to write from the point of view of someone who spends most of the time unconscious.**

* * *

To my surprise and disappointment, I woke up.

I tried to sit up, but my body wouldn't do it. I tried to look around but my eyesight was destroyed by smoke. I could think, but movement was apparently out of the question and every inch of my body fucking _hurt_ worse than I'd ever felt pain before. I'd even broken my femur before. Every nerve in my torn-apart body was shrieking, ordering me to do something about it when there wasn't a single thing I could do but lie there.

I discovered that one of my arms didn't hurt as badly as the rest of me did, and before I even thought about it I found myself fishing around in my pocket with my apparently still-functioning hand. Somehow my phone was intact. My fingers dialed without consulting my brain about it first.

I thought I was calling an ambulance until I heard a heartrendingly familiar, "'Lo?"

Matt. Matt. "Help..." I gasped into the phone. The smoke had taken my voice, too. Well, at least the place was no longer burning.

"Mello?" he asked quickly. How he could fill my name with so many different emotions at once was amazing to me, as someone who no longer felt. How could he recognize my scratchy, toneless voice? Especially over the phone, with just one word that he had never heard me say before?

"Help, help," I repeated weakly.

"Where?"

"Old warehouse, meth rumors. Main area. Under..." I tried to figure out what it was. A beam? "..._heavy_."

"Okay, I'll be there in less than five minutes," he replied instantly.

"Wait... don't hang... please..." I begged him at a whisper. He must have had his cell phone's volume all the way up in order for him to hear that. Or maybe he just knew what I would say.

"I won't. Okay, I'm getting in the car." I heard him puffing as he ran, a slight wheeze to his pants of breath. So he hadn't quit smoking, clearly, not that I gave a flying fuck at this particular moment in time.

"Matt, love you so... I love you... so... m-much... and I... sor-"

"I love you too, Mello. I'm almost there, don't worry..."

He must have broken the laws of physics because he was there in four minutes, like he said, when he lived at least fifteen minutes away. "I need my hands. I'm hanging up."

He didn't wait for me to respond and a jolt of terror went though me when I heard the buzz of a dropped call. Only moments later, however, I heard his footsteps pounding the cement floor in my general direction. When I thought he was close, I called out as loudly as I could although it was barely more than a whisper, "Matt..."

He heard me instantly and ran to me, tears springing to his eyes when he saw the shape I was in. My heart sputtered with joy- or was that because I was dying?- when I saw him. Being _looked at _by him, and not just walked past without him even knowing...

"Dammit, Mello, we've gotta get you to a hospital," he grunted as he shoved the beam of of me.

I lifted my good arm and he stuck his head under it, heaving with his shoulders. "They'll put me in jail when figure out who I'm. Or might let me die on table. No, better chance if I go home."

"But I don't know how to take care of you!" he cried as he hefted me into his arms.

"You were first in med class Wammy. Burns project."

"I slept through that unit, Mello!"

His arms were tight around me in his fear as he carried me down the steps and, despite it all, and despite how much being squeezed hurt at the moment (searing agony, to be exact), I didn't want him to loosen up. I turned my face into his chest and tried to inhale, but ended up making myself hack out a round of horrible coughs, which made it increasingly hard for him to hold me.

"Mels, you need a hospital," he said desperately. We were approaching the door.

"No!" I squirmed and he almost dropped me.

"Okay! Okay, no hospital!"

"They'll kill me," I pleaded.

"What have you been _into_?" he asked. We were finally at his car. At the moment, though, I was busy dying.

Sad that the first moment in over a year that I _don't_ want to die is the one in which I actually _am_ dying.

He laid me carefully on the back seat. It was a shame that my bodily fluids were going to ruin his beautiful upholstery. It was also a shame that, if I died in this car, he'd never be able to look at it again and he'd destroy it with a crowbar.

Almost tripping over himself, he got into the driver's see and floored it.

I saw him look at me in the rearview mirror, saw his lips form, "Oh, Mello..." and then I passed out.

**

* * *

**

Vomiting, and a vague image of someone quickly rolling me onto my side and holding a pale in front of me.

**

* * *

**

"Mello, you're getting sicker, you can't even eat, it looks like it's getting infected... you're gonna die if I don't-"

* * *

Lots of white. Hospital? Fuck. He did.

**

* * *

**

"Count backwards from five."

"Five... four... thr..."

* * *

Cool hands, holding my hand around some kind of tube. Familiar voice, a glimpse of red hair, and a gentle voice I didn't recognize, saying, "Your brother is doing as well as can be expected with the delay of treatment. The surgery-"

**

* * *

**

"Please don't-"

* * *

"We managed to stop the spread of the infection in time. The skin grafts are taking well. At this point, it looks like he's going to survive, although he might lose the arm or his sight in the left eye. He'll definitely have major scarring, but there's physical therapy that can reduce the appearance of-"

**

* * *

**

"Magikarp used Splash. Nothing happened. What a shock. Hoothoot used Foresight. Hoothoot identified Magikarp. Switch Pokemon to something less useless than fucking Magikarp. Get'em, Bellsprout! Bellsprout used Wrap..."

* * *

"Why hasn't he woken up yet?"

"He should wake up within the next few days. Matthew, you really should go ho-"

"No fucking way."

**

* * *

**

"Mello!"

I felt the dip of the side of the bed, and the change in pressure hurt but it meant that Matt was closer so I didn't complain. My eyes were finally open, although I couldn't see very well out of my left eye. Matt was holding my hand. I suspected he _had_ been the whole time.

"Mello, they think we're brothers, okay?" he whispered quickly, "I had to be related to you or they wouldn't let me stay."

I kind of laughed. "Sick."

He laughed too, but it was more of a sob. "I know, right?"

We just looked at each other for a while, completely lost as to what to say or what to do. "So... what happened?" I finally asked. My voice sounded like I was eighty and had been smoking since I was seven, AKA, what Matt would sound like when he was old.

"Well... you've had about a million surgeries. You're burned all over your left side. You're right side isn't too bad. Can you... see out of your left eye?"

I blinked. "Barely."

He smiled a little. "That's good. You might have some trouble with your left arm, too. Especially your fingers. You had a lot of surgery on them, and they say you'll still have some mobility."

A terrifying thought then crossed my mind: "Did my dick make it?" I almost didn't want to hear the answer. He didn't seem surprised by my bluntness. Of course, he was pretty familiar with that part of me...

"You managed to get hard a few times when you were unconscious." He smirked. "A nurse jerked you off. Very professionally, I might add. Apparently they've had to do it before."

Horrified, I asked, "A _female_ nurse?"

"Yep!" He sounded delighted and I glared at him.

"You let a female nurse jerk me off? Right in front of you?"

"Fuck no! I left. I can't get a hard on when I'm pretending to be your brother staying with you in the hospital."

Just then, a doctor walked in with that brisk pace they always seem to have. "Dustin Jeevas." She strode up to me and shook my hand. "How are you feeling?"

"Uh..." I did a systems check. "Not great..."

She chuckled. "Well, that's to be expected. We were worried about you for a while, there. How is your stomach? Are your meds causing any discomfort?"

"No, I'm not nauseous."

She took a brief note. "Good."

"Do you know when he can go home?" Matt piped up.

The doctor looked thoughtful, gazing at me. "Well, he's largely stable at this point. He could be in physical therapy within the week. Then, depending on how well he does there, a month, probably."

"And what if I don't consent to be admitted to physical therapy?"

Matt looked at me sharply.

"I wouldn't recommend it," the doctor frowned. "You'd be in danger of losing a lot of mobility in your arm, and the visibility of the scars wouldn't diminish as much as they have the potential to. Plus, your skin is still healing, and while you technically _could_ do that at home, the risk of infection..."

I stopped listening. Matt was listening closely enough for the both of us, looking back and forth between the doctor and me, trying to understand why I didn't want to go.

And really, the reason was that I had to get back to work. I had already been out for who knew how long. When I didn't come back, they would have assumed that I had died in the fire. By now, they were sure to have already replaced me. Now I had Matt (because I wouldn't leave him again, I _couldn't_), and I had to be extra careful with how much my associates feared me. If they saw me walking around on the streets on my merry way to outpatient physical therapy, when they thought I was dead, they'd assume betrayal and I'd be dead before I hit the ground. Then _Matt _could be, and that was unacceptable. It was even dangerous to be in the hospital. If they saw me here and saw Matt staying with me- a guy who was clearly not related no matter how much he pretended to be- they'd assume the truth and kill us both. The sooner I could get back, the better.

"If I absolutely refuse all kinds of physical therapy, what is the absolute soonest I could go home?"

"Tomorrow," she said flatly. "But you're going to have to clean those burns about six times a day with a painful and expensive chemical."

"Then prepare the discharge papers," I ordered. "Thank you for everything. But I need to get out of here."

As soon as she was gone, Matt leaped to his feet. "I can't fucking believe you!"


	13. Linda's a Bit Thick

**Disclaimer: I do not own Death Note. I do own Igloo, though.**

**A/N: Short chapter, but I posted it the same day as chapter 12 so... yeah!**

**The story is more than halfway over at this point. Also, lots of cursing in this chapter.**

* * *

I just stared at him, not even mad that he was screaming at me. He had only screamed at me about twice in the many years I'd known him, and only one of those had been when we were 'together.' He only yelled at _anyone_ if he had a very good reason, so I was confused that he had just randomly jumped up and starting shouting at me out of nowhere.

I blinked at him. "What?"

"What do you mean, what?" he demanded, storming to the other side of the room, then storming back to me, then doing it again. He never got angry, so he didn't know how to deal with it when he did. Like now, as he crossed the room back and forth yet _again_.

"I _mean_ why the fuck are you yelling at me!" I shouted right back, calm gone. I was just _slightly_ more used to being angry than he was...

"Because I dragged your broken body out of a blown-up building, _stepping over_ a bunch of other corpses, not sure you were going to be alive by the time I got there after more than _two years_ of absolutely no contact, thinking that my first look at you after all that time would be of your dead body, getting you to this hospital, and now _all you have to fucking do_ is lay there and get better, and you won't do it!"

"Did it occur to you that I might have a good reason?" I demanded at the top of my lungs. Well, not _literally_ at the top of my lungs, but it was pretty damn loud. If it was at the top of my lungs, everyone within a two-mile radius would come running to see what was wrong.

"I don't care what your reasons are!"

"What if they fucking _affect you_! What if they could fucking _get you killed!"_

"I don't care! You can't fucking leave! You're the most pigheaded _ass_ to have ever existed and unfortunately I fucking _love you_ and if something happens to you out there I have no fucking idea what I'd do! _You can't fucking_ _leave me here, dammit!_"

He stopped shouting abruptly. Then, suddenly, I realized that we weren't fighting about me wanting to get out of the hospital, and all my anger drained away. My shoulders slumped. He sat down on the bed again, heavily, having realized the same thing.

"The Mafia," I whispered.

"What?" he whispered back, gently brushing a lock of charred but remaining hair out of my eyes.

"That's where I've been, what I've been doing, and why I left you at Wammy's."

I paused. He waited patiently for me to continue. "I left you so that I could join the Mafia and get the influence, resources, and power I needed to catch Kira and surpass Near. I didn't want you involved in that." I laughed, but it wasn't really a laugh. "I didn't even really want _me_ involved in that. It's hell, Matt. And besides all the danger you'd have been in, you would've kept me human when I needed to be... well, a monster. A murderer. So I gave up everything that matters. My soul, you..."

He sat there, staring at me, speechless, then said, "I managed to track you to LA, but you disappeared after that. Is that because..."

"Yeah. I knew they would do a background check."

We sat there together for a long time, in silence.

Then: "Why'd you follow me?"

"What did you expect me to do? Sit around at Wammy's? You were the only reason I stayed in the first place. If you were gone, there was no point in sitting through the classes, dealing with Igloo every winter, getting along with Near for once, which, by the way, was fucking weird for the both of us, fighting off Linda... she _still_ never got that I'm gay, you believe it? Even when I shut down after you left, she didn't figure it out. For such a brilliant girl..." He laughed and shook his head. "I couldn't stay there without you. And I couldn't stand not knowing whether or not you were at least _alive_. Tracking you helped that a little. But when the trail went cold, I..."

Darkness slid over his eyes in a way that it never used to. He looked at me, hard, and then shook his head to clear it. "But you're alive," he said firmly, and most of the light came back, but not all. He brought his legs up and lay next to me on my bed, curling up against me. He took my hand and brought it to his lips. "Please, Mello," he whispered, "don't leave me again."

"I won't," I promised quietly. "Never again."

And as I said it, I hoped, I hoped _so hard_, that I would never have to.


	14. Always Hopes, Always Preserves

**Disclaimer: I do not own Death Note, the movie Hancock, or Will Smith. Sob. I also don't own the Bible or the verse from it that I used.**

**A/N: You know those people who think we only ship MxM because it's hot? That makes me sad. :( They cheapen our love for this pairing! I never ship something **_**just**_**because it's hot. Of course, MxM **_**is**_**freakishly hot... but that's not why we do it! XD**

**

* * *

**

I was able to leave the hospital- with Matt- the next evening.

It would be safer for both of us if we stayed at _his_ apartment because they would probably check mine regularly until they found my body at the site of the explosion, which they never would. I explained this to him as we got out of the car and I led the way to his apartment.

I stopped when we got to his door, waiting for him to unlock it, and he gave me a funny look.

"How did you know which one was mine?"

I would have blushed if my face were still intact. "I... broke in a few days before the fire. I... had a hit a few floors up, and-"

"That was you?"

"...Sorry..."

"It's okay, I hated him," he said, unlocking the door and letting us in.

I laughed, feeling warm just because he was there. This guy makes me so damn sappy. "Well, I saw you coming out of the building- you walked right by me actually. I was sitting there on my motorcycle and you got in your car. I think you were going to get some games. Anyway, I tricked one of your neighbors into calling the landlord and finding out which apartment was yours, and then I broke in and just, like, looked around."

"...That was you?" he asked quietly. "The guy on the bike was you?"

"Uh... yeah."

"So _that's_ why my heart sped up," he mumbled, leaving me no choice but to rush over to him and hug him, tight.

When I finally let him go, he grinned at me. I pretended that it wasn't at all forced. "So, let's get you in some clothes other than the hospital-issue old man pants and paper-thin shirt," he said brightly.

I followed him to his room, watching as he fished through his 'clean' pile and picked out something that would be comfortably loose on my burns. When he handed them to me, I stripped without a second thought and changed. It was strange to be wearing stripes, and even stranger when, the next time I looked at him, he was standing uncomfortably and looking away from me.

"Uh... I'm done..." I offered.

"Okay," he said, still looking away from me.

Well. This was certainly interesting. He wasn't saying anything more, so I played my secret card, the one that always worked no matter what. It was what I had done countless times, including the day he got the message that his uncle- the abusive one that Wammy had taken him away from when he was really little- was dead. "So... want to split a sweet and sour chicken and illegally download a movie from the internet?"

That grin came back and this time it wasn't even forced. He whipped out his phone and, while it was ringing, said, "Go pick out a movie."

I drifted to his computer and went to the site we always used to use. It was still up and running, which was good because I didn't know any others. I found a movie I liked that I was sure Matt would appreciate- Hancock, with Will Smith (we both had a thing for him)- and figured out how to make it stream to his TV with the setup he already had. (I'm not up to Matt's standards, but I'm better than most people with technology, thanks to Wammy's.)

The Chinese food place must have been just down the street, because it arrived very quickly and Matt plopped it down on the coffee table, taking a seat on the couch.

"What are we watching?"

"Hancock."

"Is that a documentary...?"

"No, it's Will Smith."

"Win!"

I started it up, and then I had a really awkward decision to make.

Where did I sit? We were sharing the food out of the same container, so I had to sit directly next to him. But should I do butt-to-butt? Were we on butt-to-butt terms? Or should I sit like I would with a friend, at a close but not intimate distance? Or should I sit as with an acquaintance? _And_, are we talking _English_ personal space or _American_ personal space? A friendly distance in English terms? A friendly distance in American terms?

Damn it, it was like when we were twelve all over again! Frustrated, I gave up the politics and just planted my butt right next to his, the way we always would have sat together, before, when there was no doubt that we would be together forever.

I watched him control his face as he pretended not to notice, focusing on the movie, but he couldn't hide any expression from me just like I couldn't hide from him. He was happy. That was all that mattered.

We gave a running commentary on the movie, laughing together (I had laughed more today than I had in two years) at all the funny parts, getting emotional at all the heart-wrenching parts, shouting advice at the characters, and eating our sweet and sour chicken from where he held it between us, having fork duels when we went for the same piece.

When we finished eating, he put the white boxy-carton thing down on the coffee table and his hands on his lap.

I rolled my eyes. "Come here," I sighed, holding out my arms.

He leaned into me and I wrapped my arms around him, being careful of the burns and pulling him close. He rested his head on my unburned shoulder.

It felt mind-blowingly good to hold him again, and I was incapable of paying attention to the rest of the movie. I buried my nose in his hair and stroked his arm with my free hand. I was so obsessed with the smell of him, the feel of him, and I suddenly understood that, literally, I would do anything for him. How could I have left? How did I survive without him?

Easy. I didn't, really. That was the whole point.

It was only eight when the movie finished, but I was tired from my injuries and I knew I had to clean them out. Reluctantly, I removed myself from him. "I've gotta go treat the burns. You should get some sleep- I know you didn't sleep much at the hospital."

"Uh, yeah, okay," he said, getting up too. "Goodnight then."

He waved slightly and went in the direction of the bedroom.

I walked in the opposite direction, to the bathroom, where I started up the shower. I was supposed to wash first, and then apply all the chemicals, then wash again. My treatment was such a waste of water. I smirked. That would please Matt; he _hated_ nature.

It took forever (okay, twenty minutes, but I'm impatient), and when I got out and dried off I changed back into his shirt and boxers, leaving off the jeans. Normally I would sleep naked, but I wasn't sure, still, what terms Matt and I were on. If he couldn't even watch me change, how would he react if I got into bed with him naked?

He wasn't asleep when I slid in next to him, and he adjusted into me when I put my arm around him, sighing a little in comfort.

"Matt?" I called softly.

"Yeah Mel?"

"Why did you take me back?"

He rolled over to face me and looked at me with his now-uncovered dark blue eyes. "Because you're the only one I've ever loved," he admitted with a shrug of his non-pinned shoulder. "I've never felt anything- even friendship, really- for anyone who isn't you. It's just... you. And you're the one."

I leaned in and kissed him quickly, stopped, looked at him. We hadn't kissed in so long, not since the night I left him. He didn't smile, and for a moment I thought I'd fucked up, but then, carefully, he placed a few fingers on the side of my cheek and, very seriously, brought our lips together again.

It was slow, deep, and firm, and for all the world it felt like a grown-up version of all the kisses we had stolen at Wammy's, behind stairwells, out in the bushes, late at night in our room, anywhere we could. I had forgotten what a kiss was supposed to be like in the blur of the people I'd fucked for fun, for promotions, and for information, but now I remembered. _This. _What was that Bible verse? I was still Catholic somewhere under all the shit. _'Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always preserves.'_

And I loved him. I loved him so much.

It was awkward, but at the same time it was so familiar, when I reached for him and he reached back, when I pulled him into me. He moaned a little and my fingers lightly tugged at the hem of his shirt. He nodded and I slid it off him, then he did the same, careful of my wounds.

I couldn't stop kissing him for long enough to do any of what I would normally do to him or his nipples or his neck, but he still had his fingers on my face and he didn't seem to be letting go, either. Plus, neither of us needed it. There was so much love in that kiss, so much loneliness, so much desperation on both our parts. I gasped a little and pressed closer to him but it still wasn't enough. I needed more of him, more of his skin, more of his heartbeat, more of his sounds. From how he was panting, I judged that he felt the same way, and when his hands went to my (technically _his_) boxers and removed them, then to his own, I _knew_ he felt the same way.

"Matt..." I panted, pulling back for a second to hold his face and look in his eyes.

"What?" he breathed back, chest heaving.

"Nothing," I said honestly. "I just love you."

"I love you, too."

I got on top of him and started stroking his penis lightly, just enough to make him shiver. The way he moaned told me that he hadn't been with anyone else in the more than two years we'd been apart, and if I wasn't hard already then the way he arched into my touch would have done it. It reminded me of our first time, when we had been sweaty, sticky, and extremely confused as to how it had happened.

I pressed one finger into him, then two, scissoring and stretching as gently as possible. I curled my fingers, brushing the spot I had never forgotten the location of, and he gasped into my mouth. I added a third and he didn't make any sounds of complaint, so I began thrusting with my fingers.

I did it until we were both nearly crazy, and then I switched my fingers out for my cock. He wrapped his legs up around me and we softly, tenderly made love, more gently than we ever had or ever would ever need to again, silent except for the sounds of our bodies moving together. And when we came, together, and when I let myself carefully down next to him, I held him tight and whispered in his ear, after I'd caught my breath, "I'd do anything for you. Do you know that?"

Holding me so tight that I was assured he would never let go, he smiled and whispered back, "That's _nothing_ compared to what I'd do for you."


	15. Dead is Dead

**Disclaimer: I do not own Death Note.**

**A/N: I'm in Hawaii. Yeah. I know, right? I wrote this the night before or something, then edited and rewrote on the plane. And now I have internet in my room (which, btw, overlooks a drop-dead beautiful ocean) and am posting. Because that's how much I like fanfiction. Don't worry, I'm out and doing stuff, too. XD This is actually just downtime. But yeah. I've got a Hawaiian dress on, a shell necklace they gave out, sand on my feet, and I smell like sunscreen and the real orchid lei that's currently in the hotel room's mini-fridge. Sigh. Lovely. Worth the, like, 18 hours of travel.**

**

* * *

**

I woke up with a jerk, and Matt wasn't in my arms. I panicked for a moment that it had all been some kind of drug-induced hallucination, hating how much that was possible and even _likely._

And then I heard a gunshot.

My blood ran cold and I leapt out of bed, tearing my burns open even more than I had the night before (I really wasn't technically in any state to have done what we did last night but I didn't regret it), running immediately for the door.

I tore it open, and where before my heart had been pounding with fear, now it stopped.

Because Matt, my Matt, was lying on the floor in a pool of blood.

The Mafia guy that had shot him was leaving, but I didn't even care. I could do nothing more or less than fall to my knees and put two fingers on his neck in a last-ditch hope for some sign of a pulse, but there was nothing. He was dead. As quickly as I had gotten him back, he was gone, and I was again alone, but this time it was forever because there was no coming back from death.

I lay down next to him as he had me at the hospital, lying my head on his silent heart, not even caring that he was bloody.

I didn't even have the energy to cry, when-

* * *

"Mello!"

I shot up in bed, awake for real this time, and Matt's arms caught me up.

"Matt?" But wait, wasn't he dead?

"You were screaming so much! Shit, are you okay?"

I was shaking, but he was alive, so yes, I was.

As terrifying as that dream had been, it had made one thing incredibly obvious: I couldn't have my few days to stay home and heal. I had to go back to the Mafia as soon as was physically possible so that they'd stop looking for me, eliminating the chance of them accidentally finding Matt.

Now, actually, would be ideal.

"I have to go to work," I mumbled, pulling away from him and standing.

_"What_?" Matt demanded, jumping up too. "How can you even think about the Mafia right now?"

"You'd be thinking about it, too, if you'd just dreamed what I dreamed." I cast around for clothes.

"Mello, you're still in pretty bad shape, won't they-"

"Their nickname for me is Crazy Fuck," I said blankly, as if that explained everything, which it probably did.

"O-okay?"

I started digging through his clean clothes pile with him trailing behind me, looking a little lost.

"What's the skankiest thing you've got?"

"Uh..." he dug around for a minute before producing a black wifebeater.

"And skanky pants?"

He motioned to a pair of tight jeans. Well, I'd work what I had. Those were going to hurt on the burns of my lower back. On the other hand, the sleevelessness of the wifebeater would show off the burns on my arm nicely.

I changed and this time he didn't look away. "Mello, please tell me what's going on."

"I'm in the Mafia."

"Yes, I know, but-"

"I wish I could take that back, now that I have you, but I can't. If I don't go back, they'll eventually find me. If I don't go back to them _before_ they find me, they'll kill me for a deserter. And then they'll kill _you_ for being a fag associated with a deserter."

He flinched. We'd grown up at Wammy's where homosexuality had never been unusual- it might have even been the norm. He had probably never been called anything like that to his face.

"Sorry. But name-calling is a thousand times better than what they'd do to you. They'd kill you. They'd kill _me, _if they knew."

"Mello, I still don't really understand-"

"And you know they wouldn't kill you _quickly_, right?"

"I can imagine."

"So I have to get there. Yesterday, ideally, but since I can't go back in time today will have to do."

"All right," he said reluctantly, following me to the door.

I paused halfway out, giving him a hard look. "Don't... don't leave the apartment, okay?"

He nodded wordlessly, bewildered and still not entirely awake, but I knew he would comply.

"I love you," I said, kissing him quickly but tenderly.

"'Love you too..."

And then I was gone.

**

* * *

**

It almost physically hurt to leave his presence, but I knew it had to be done. It was too much of a risk, and I couldn't lose him.

And, I'd do anything for him, right? Didn't that include going back to the Mafia, even if his very presence made what I would have to _do_ in the Mafia intolerable? I put my mask of ice on, cementing my features into a dead, crazed madness. It was harder to do than I remembered, but I'd credit that to the burn that still hurt like a bitch and restricted my facial movement.

There were about a dozen men in the base when I entered it, including my boss, my underlings, and two guys I didn't know. _They_ clearly knew _me_, however, because the moment they laid eyes on me, everyone including the strangers stopped dead.

"...You're back from the dead," one of the men said flatly.

There was no sarcasm in his tone, and for a good few seconds I was sure that everyone except for me held his breath.

But really, did I truly look _that _bad? I was paler, even thinner from my stay at the hospital (skin and bones, now), and of course I had a burn that was gruesomely consuming half of my body, currently healing and looking a bit on the puss-filled side.

I didn't exactly know how to reply, so I said nothing at all as I strode over to the couches and sat on them as I had the first time I ever walked into that room. They stared at me in horror, their eyes following me, Richard actually _physically_ following me, watching my every move.

"How did you survive that explosion?" he asked slowly.

I didn't answer for a long moment. During that moment, every single man in that room doubted that I _had_ survived. For a split second, I really was a demon back from Hell.

Then I shrugged and the tension leaked out of the room like air out of a pierced intertube, leaving only the fear. "Guess I'm just hard to kill," I droned.

Richard's gaze slide over my burn, sizing me up. "You just... walked out?"

I snorted. "Hardly. I woke up in a ditch somewhere. Dragged myself to a doctor, got some medical attention, crawled out of Hell. And now here I am, ironically, right back in it, bored and more than ready to resume killing."

One of the two guys I didn't know, one who had been trembling in fear only a few moments ago, apparently suddenly lost his mind, and in an idiotic and gravely misplaced attempt at bravado, literally stepped forward. "Your position is no longer available, Mello." He had missed the 'appropriate names to call Mello' memo because he didn't even correct himself. I would have accepted an apology and a correction. "Believe it or not, while you were busy lying in a hospital bed, life went on without you." He smirked but unfortunately it was just a pathetic flattening of his lips. No attitude behind it. No _threat. _"And here I am."

I rolled my eyes, snatched a gun out of Richard's pants, and blew his brains out.

He collapsed with a thump and I buried the guilt way, way down.

Strangely, although I had just murdered a comrade in front of them, no one did anything to stop me. Maybe the guy had annoyed them as much as he had annoyed me. "And now the position is open," I said boredly, holding the gun limply. Knowing that no one would oppose me (well-earned nickname), I tucked Richard's gun into the front of my own pants. He wouldn't be getting it back, which he seemed to understand and, for some reason, not protest.

"So. Richard," I went on as if no time had passed and nothing had changed. "The mission I had when I left off. I trust no one besides me survived?"

"Yeah."

"I got a look at the place's production methods. They weren't different than any home job, from what I could discern. I don't know what made them so much more efficient, except perhaps the producers themselves. I will draw their setup for you later. I'll also make a list of all their ingredients and approximate the amounts of each. Now. Whatever you were about to have the dead guy do, give it to me."

He stared at me for a few moments while I stared back expectantly, and finally he recovered his boss-ness as I picked a bit of nonexistent lint off my black wifebeater.

He waved a manila folder at me. "Not an assassination this time, believe it or not. This is a breaking and entering job. Get in, steal the object in this picture, and get it back here." He looked me up and down. "Take a few days and be subtle about it."

I nodded and strode out of the room. Let them talk about me behind my back, afraid to call me 'Mello' even when I'm not there.

It would have felt good before, but now it was just making me sick, like it had in the beginning. Matt had managed to resent me in just the month, including the hospital time, he had been back in my life. In a month, he had undone nearly two and a half years of me destroying myself.

It was bad, because now more than ever I needed to be a monster. Now it was _actually_ important, not like what I_ used_ to believe was important- catching Kira, beating Near. Now, I had to be a monster to protect Matt and, to a less important degree, myself.

And I couldn't _really_ be, if he was there. Talk about a catch-22.

Being very sure I wasn't followed, I went back home to him


	16. KaibaCorp

**Disclaimer: I do not own Death Note, Yu-Gi-Oh!, Pokemon, or Repo: the Genetic Opera.**

**A/N: I'm taking an informal survey. How many of you would never in a million years let your parents find out that you read the stuff you read? How many of you have parents that DO know, like mine? That know you write it, if you do? And how do they feel about it?**

_**

* * *

**_

I had only been gone a few hours, and Matt was clearly very surprised when I rang the doorbell in the rhythm of Darth Vader's theme, the code we had always used to signal that it was, in fact, the other one of us and to open the door even if you were naked or something.

He opened the door for me (sadly he was not naked this time), checking behind me as he closed it.

"I've taken care of it," I informed him as I strode into the room, trying not to think about him naked.

"That didn't take long."

"Only one guy to shoot. The Mafia just isn't a time-consuming business for someone like me."

"Why'd you have to shoot him?"

"He took my position and he was being a smartass. The same reasons as the classic public execution: fear. Everyone is now thoroughly re-afraid of me and they sure as hell aren't gonna come looking for me outside of the workplace. You're safe."

"And _you're_ safe, too?"

I shrugged. "Safe as I was before."

He sighed and hugged me, and I felt all the hurt draining away. As nice as that was, I knew that it was just draining into somewhere else in my subconscious and would harden there, cement into guilt about what I'd done that was worse than hurt. It would kill me to leave him again, but it would poison me to be with him.

No way to win. All I could do was keep _him_ safe and enjoy it while I could.

"My next job is a theft," I said conversationally, shaking away the dark thoughts. Obsessing over it would only ruin the time I had left to me.

I followed him when he headed to the couch, whipping out, strangely, his SP (strange only because he had a DS, so why play the older system?). In most cases, it would be insulting if someone started playing a game while having a conversation with you. Not with Matt- he was capable of paying full attention to two or three things. More, sometimes, depending on what they were and how much sleep he had gotten in the recent past. Yet more proof that he _could _have been L with both hands tied behind his back.

I wondered briefly if I would have hated him like I hate Near, had he been ranked first, but, like I did to most of my thoughts nowadays, I put it out of my mind.

"What are you stealing?" he asked, not sounding the least bit distracted despite the fact that, from his posture, I could tell he was at an important part of the game.

"Some kind of computer chip thing. I don't know. It's over my head technologically. I just know what it looks like and what building it's in, and I know I have to get it."

His thumbs stopped moving and he looked up at me. He had his straightest of straight faces on, and I immediately knew that something was wrong. "What's the name of the building?" he asked casually, resuming gameplay.

"Uh... KaibaCorp, LA branch, I think it was."

"Oh, really?" he said, maintaining his fake-neutral voice. "Got a picture of the chip?"

"Yeah...?" I reached down the front of my pants and pulled out the folded-up piece of paper bearing the image he requested. I saw a quick smile tug at his lips at the fact that I still keep things in my pants, but I also saw him carefully mold it back to blank. The guy had skills: I rarely met anyone who could pull off an expressionless face as well as I could.

I passed it over to him and he actually put down his game to look at it, which is how I knew that something was _really_ off.

Nervous and disgusted that I was nervous, I asked him, "What's wrong?"

He shook his head lightly. "Nothing really."

We always _had_ been terrible at lying to each other.

He wouldn't meet my eye, simply going back to playing his game after placing the picture between us on the seat cushion.

I sighed. "Matt, I'm gonna steal the fucking thing. I have a right to know what it is."

He played for a minute more without saying anything, and then he turned off the game without even saving. That was blasphemy for him.

As he put it down and looked up at me, I saw why he was playing on his SP instead of one of his modern systems.

The DS can't run any games older than GBA. Matt was playing Pokemon Blue.

Matt only plays Pokemon Blue when he's extremely stressed out. For him, it's like a form of regression. You can actually monitor his psychological well-being by what game he's playing at what time. And Pokemon Blue? It could only mean that he was really close to wigging out.

I looked up at him, alarmed, to find him still looking at me. He seemed calm, but the Pokemon Blue never lied. He had taken out his SP after I had mentioned my next job. Since when did a little bit of illegality bother him? He hacked into heavily-guarded government databases for _fun._

Except he had probably been playing all day, and just stopped to answer the door. That would explain why he'd had his SP actually on his person.

Damn it, he deserved so much better than me. Ideally he'd be with someone that doesn't stress him out all the time.

I snapped back to reality when he finally answered my question. "It's a chip. At KaibaCorp. I guess it makes sense that you don't know this, but KaibaCorp is one of the most respected electronics companies in the world. Its technology is... mind-blowing, putting it mildly. And the chip you're going to try to steal is a brand-new hologram program. It's literally worth about 1.5 billion dollars, modest estimate."

Um... woah. "What would the Mafia want with that... our branch, at least, doesn't deal stuff like that..."

"I have no idea," he replied. "But- and you know I love you more than anything- Mels, you're not up to this one. The company has more money than God. The guy who made it and all other KaibaCorp stuff... he's brilliant. He's like... 18 or something. He could have been Wammy's material. 1.5 billion might be loose change to him, but with the profits the program is going to make for his company, it's going to be guarded better than the President of the United States."

...Fuck.

Yeah, I was good. I was really _damn_ good, as a matter of fact. But I didn't think even _I_ would be able to get in if Air Force One was going to be circling the place.

"Well... how can you be sure that this is the same one?" I asked hopefully.

He pointed at a very small icon on the upper-left part of the chip in the picture. "See that white dragon icon? It's really faint."

I squinted and, sure enough, there it was. I nodded.

"Well, that's basically his signature."

I leaned back in my seat. "I'm screwed."

"Can't you just... report that it's impossible or something?"

I laughed. "No."

"Why not?"

"Because it's not _impossible_. There's someone out there who could do it, it's just not me. They really wouldn't take it well."

He frowned. "We'll come up with something."

"No way!" I exploded, making him jump.

"What?"

"No 'we!'"

"...What?"

"There's no 'we!'" I said desperately. "_I_ will think of something. _You_ will stay far, far away from all things Mafia and you will remain innocent and play your games and do whatever the hell you want _except_ get involved in any sense of the word with the fucking Mafia!"

"_You_ did it," he pointed out, indignant.

"Yeah, and look what it did to _me_!" I shouted, leaping to my feet. "I don't eat, because I have to look like I'm about to die. I don't sleep, because when I do I have nightmares and half the time I'm too high to fall asleep anyway. I've fucked _the_ most disgusting men- and women, mind you- on the face of the Earth, because it was the only way I could get far enough to not _have_ to do that anymore." My voice was rising in my panic, but I couldn't seem to keep it down. The thought of the Mafia knowing who Matt was, even his name, was outright horrifying. They'd destroy him. Like they did to me. And then he wouldn't be Matt anymore and I wouldn't be able to take that. "I've _killed people_, Matt!" Now I was just shrieking, and Matt's eyes were saucers. "I've shot people for fucking up my _laundry_. I've shot men for being caught with men. I've shot men for _reputedly_ being with a man, when really the guy they had been with was _me_! I've killed _children! _And there's a hundred other dicks like me in the Mafia- _just like me_- who would just make you the next target of all this shit! Or make you _do_ it! I'm not even going to take that fucking _chance!_"

And with that, all of my energy drained out of me and I collapsed back onto the couch, tears flowing freely. I buried my face in my hands. It wasn't like he had never seen me cry before- when I was younger I would cry out of anger or sadness or sometimes even happiness- but I couldn't hold my head up.

His arms came around me the way they always had, and he held me tight. "What will they do to you if you fail?" he whispered.

"Nothing good," I mumbled back, not lifting my head.

"Will they kill you? Beat you up?"

"I don't know."

"Will they... kick you out?" he asked hopefully.

I laughed bitterly. "Ha. No. I wish. They don't just let you go. You die in the line of duty, or you get betrayed and killed, or you get to die by gauntlet trying to leave. And if you just stop showing up, they hunt you down. Can't have you exposing secrets."

"...Oh."

* * *

**A/N 2: Bad place to end a chapter, I know. And... so yeah... KaibaCorp... and the hologram technology for the monsters... I went there. Problem is, I just recently rediscovered that I'm still in love with Seto Kaiba. I'm not going to bring him in (...probably... well, since he's in Domino, Japan making sweet yaoi with Yami and/or Joey, I'll probably leave him there), I just thought it was a cute mention, and better than coming up with new technology and companies. :D**


	17. The Passmaker

**Disclaimer: I do not own Death Note or Yu-Gi-Oh!.**

**A/N: I screwed myself over when I named the place KaibaCorp. Now I can't write this without starting to think about Seto Kaiba and immediately going off to find prideshipping or puppyshipping fanfiction, which distracts me from writing this fic... Sigh. XD That's why this took so long.**

**

* * *

**

There was absolutely no fucking way in the fiery recesses of the special Hell, reserved for people like Kira, Beyond Birthday, and me, that I was going to be able to break into that building.

As I stood in front of KaibaCorp, this became painfully clear.

After much begging, Matt convinced me to let him look up the public-record-but-very-limited schematics of the place and explain it until he was sure I understood. So I knew exactly where the chip was most likely going to be.

That didn't matter, though. It's the damn child geniuses- me, Matt, and Albino Freak included. They just make life so difficult. Even from the _outside_ I knew that it wasn't going to be possible to get in.

At least in any conventionally-illegal way.

Brute force, for example, would be absurd. Walking in firing randomly wouldn't do any good either. Stealth was hopeless with the massive number of cameras this place had, all designed by the previously mentioned child genius.

That left infiltration.

So on the selected day when the young president of the company would definitely not be at the LA branch, I donned a black three-piece suit, tied my hair back, borrowed Matt's car, and joined morning rush hour.

The first thing I noticed upon getting out of my car was metal detectors, so I left my weapons in the car. _That_ seriously sucked. I didn't need a weapon to kill someone, but now I wouldn't even have the _option_ of shooting the place up, which had kind of been my tentative Plan B.

It took about twenty minutes to get through security, and that made me pity the people who worked there and had to go through it every day. After they had searched my every nook and cranny for anything even remotely dangerous (and I do mean _every_ nook and cranny), they directed me to a little room where I could get a visitor's badge made.

The guy behind the desk identified himself sarcastically as 'The Passmaker' (too much time alone in this little room) and, not looking at me once, sat me down across from him.

"Name?" he asked boredly, fiddling with a piece of paper.

"Michael Thornton," I supplied easily. I always liked to use 'Michael' as my name because it was close enough to 'Mihael' that I would automatically respond to it. Brilliant, I know.

"Can I see some proof of identification Mr. Thor-" he glanced up to give me a 'superior' sort of look but it changed instantly to one I recognized much too well.

Shit.

"Mr. Thornton," he finished uneasily, his gaze oozing over me. Admittedly, he wasn't as bad-looking as some of the guys I'd... known in the biblical sense... but this hadn't been in the plan and I wasn't mentally prepared for it.

Oh well.

I bit the corner of my lip 'nervously' and widened my eyes a little, looking up at him through my eyelashes. "Um... yes? Mr. Passmaker?"

"Kyle," he said abruptly. "It's... it's Kyle."

"Kyle," I replied at a whisper, giving him a very cute, small smile.

"So, um... can I see an ID?"

"Yeah..." I got out my wallet and produced a fake ID with the name I had supplied.

He barely looked at it, because he was unwilling to take his eyes off of me for very long. Apparently I looked good in a suit.

"Michael," he said warmly, passing it back to me. "Archangel."

Wow. Brilliant connection there, Kyle. Instead of rolling my eyes like I wanted to, I just made myself blush and tuck my ID and wallet away.

"All right. Please stand over there?"

I obediently stood against the wall he had indicated and smiled for the picture he quickly snapped.

He nodded that it had come out well and I went to go back to the chair, but Kyle was already taking a step forward. _Damn it_.

Knowing what he would do before _he _knew what he would do, I didn't resist when he put a hand on either side of me on the wall and loosely pinned me. He was bigger than me and probably assumed that he had the advantage. He didn't know that I could- and was going to- kill him at any time.

"Hey," he said softly. "You're really cute. Do you want to... go out?"

Wait a minute.

'Go out?'

No, he was supposed to ask to fuck me, or ask me to suck him, or maybe not even ask at all and just make it happen. Shit. If he was _nice_ it was going to be less easy to kill him.

So I made my eyes sad, throwing in a little bit of 'watery' for good measure. "Kyle... I'd love to, but..."

He touched my hair gently. It was a shame that he was going to have to die- he really _was_ a nice person. After all, hitting on me as opposed to raping me (which seemed to be the default of a lot of people in my line of business)? "But...?"

"But I... I have someone... and he'd... if he caught us together, he'd..." I shuddered, looking up at him like an abused puppy.

He nodded. "Alright. I understand." Then he actually let go.

I officially felt like shit, but he would definitely remember my face and that would be a problem when I got the chip and everything went to hell. They would know, from the computers, who the last person to get a pass was, but they would assume that it was the person _after_ that who had killed the man, and then also assume that it was the same guy as the one who had stolen the chip. The guards outside wouldn't recognize me amongst the hundreds of faces they dealt with; Kyle would. Suspicious would eventually fall on me, but by then I would be able to cover it up.

So I did the only thing I really could do. As if changing my mind, I took a few shy steps towards him. He smiled and relaxed, holding out his arms for me. Snuggling into him, I let my hands creep up to the sides of his face and shut off my conscience.

Then I broke his neck with a quick turn in the least painful way I knew how.

So much for no murder this time.

The witness taken care of, I tucked him behind his desk and made him look like he was asleep on the job. I nabbed my ID from where it had been waiting on the tray of the printer and hurried out of the room. Best to put some distance between myself and the corpse.

This left me with only until the body was discovered to get the chip, and with how much traffic this place saw, it was probably not more than an hour before another guest needed a pass only to find The Passmaker murdered.

How would I explain that to Matt?

I shook my head to clear it, walking briskly in the direction of the room with the chip.

Guards. Shit. Two, one on either side of the door. There were two more guarding the door across from it, as well, although odds were good that they wouldn't even move if I attacked these guards, unless by some miracle I started to win.

There was no way to fight so many people in such a public setting without a gun, so the only thing I could do was try to nonchalantly walk past them...

Unfortunately they had seen this plan before, and, as soon as my intention was clearly their door, they grabbed me, hard, by either arm.


	18. Nondescript Envelopes

**Disclaimer: I do not own Death Note.**

**A/N: Sorry this chapter is short. The story is almost over, so I don't want to cram it all into one chapter. I think there are one or two more after this one.**

* * *

Struggling, I managed to get my knee into one guy's groin before they had me pinned to the ground. As it turned out, they had very pointy elbows, which they emphasized by digging them into my back and joints. The commotion attracted other guards but not, just as I had predicted, the guards in front of the door right across from us. Whatever was in there (and, if I remembered from the blueprints, it was a meeting room) must have been worth guarding.

There were four guys on me now and it seemed like the smartest idea would be to stop squirming, because I simply didn't have a chance of escaping at the moment and it would be a good plan to save my energy for when I _did_. Their grips did not loosen when I stopped resisting.

The door across the hall from the room I had been trying to enter, the one that was still being guarded despite my intrusion, slammed open hard enough to shake the floor into which my face was being pressed.

A strong, confident voice growled, "What's going on!"

No. Fucking. Way.

I twisted under the guards enough to look up and see that, yes, it was, for some reason, Matt. If my heart didn't always recognize him before my eyes did (even now it was beating a little faster at seeing him unexpectedly, ugh, the mush), I would have doubted what I saw.

But no, it was definitely him. Matt in a suit. Clean, holding himself with confidence and his head up, proud. His hair was tamed and professional-looking and he wore a stern, hard, no-nonsense expression that I didn't know his face was capable of.

A man appeared behind him from inside the room and he turned to glare at him, un-goggled eyes glittering with intensity. "Care to explain this?" he demanded in what I knew to be a put on, deep, smooth voice.

"Sir, I assure you, our guards will deal with the intruder in the most-"

"Intruder!" he exploded, striding closer to the man and staring him right in the eyes. "Michael, my _bodyguard of ten years_, an _intruder_?"

The man was nodding and speaking quickly as the unnecessarily huge guards untangled themselves from my slightly-crushed person. Matt gave the man one final dirty look before sighing and gesturing to me with a graceful flick of his hand. "Michael, get off the floor, would you? I'm sorry about these... _people_."

I bowed my head in obedience and gathered myself up, getting to my feet and coming to stand behind him.

"Honestly," he said to the still-apologetic man, "is this how you treat your customers? You're lucky I don't sue you for assault. He clearly just got the rooms confused while trying to find me. You keep them right across from each other and then get upset when someone accidentally turns towards the wrong one? I suggest you improve upon your layout the next time you build an establishment such as this."

"Yes, sir. I apologize again, sir. It's very expensive technology and the guards are ordered to restrain any unauthorized persons who-"

"We're going now. I can honestly say I've never been so insulted. I won't be back, and don't be surprised if I talk to Seto Kaiba _personally. _Don't worry, I'll be _sure_ to mention your name..."

With that, Matt jerked his head at me and stormed off, with me close in tow.

* * *

After he explained to me in his normal, passive voice that he had taken a cab here, we got into the car, I retrieved my gun from the back seat and re-armed, and then I drove us home in silence.

He sat next to me without saying a word, shifting uncomfortably in his seat every few minutes. He kept looking at me, scared of my rare silence, and touching something in his pocket as if to confirm that it was still there. Did he have a weapon on him? Did he honestly think I would attack him?

I calmly, precisely parked the car, turning the key in the ignition to off.

The moment the vehicle was stopped I turned, grabbed his face, and kissed him.

I felt him smile, relieved, and relax, deepening the kiss and wrapping his arms around my shoulders. When we needed to breathe, I pulled back, remaining forehead-to-forehead with him, stroking his hair, and said, "You're the most amazing person on the face of the Earth."

He smiled. "I know."

"Did you also know that you look fucking _amazing_ in a suit?"

"Did you know that you do, too?"

"Did you additionally know," I said, "that you just totally saved my ass back there?"

"I saved your ass in more ways than you know, sweetheart," he said mockingly, grinning at me and getting out of the car.

I followed him all the way to the door of our apartment, where he stopped.

"What's the other way you saved my ass?" I asked, almost suspicious now.

He held up an envelope.

I just raised an eyebrow. "You saved my ass with an envelope?"

Ignoring that, he said, "The chip, Mello, through the generous donation of several hundred banks worldwide, has come into our possession."

I was glad we were no longer in the car, because if we had been I would have crashed and anticlimactically killed us for sure. "You're not serious."

"Dead serious. One chip in one nondescript envelope, purchased legally with stolen money, Mafia-free."

I just gaped at him until he started laughing, handing me the envelope which I took carefully. "Here you go, Michael. Ten years back payment for being my bodyguard."

That reminded me. "How did you know what name I would choose?" I asked, head still spinning from the thought of what I was holding.

He shrugged. "I just know you. Like, what would I pick, for me?"

"Miles," I said instantly.

He smiled gently, eyes soft. "Yeah."

It was a smile that I could not help but kiss, pressing him gently into our front door, getting as close to him as possible.

After a while, he broke away from me. "You should take that in, shouldn't you? I mean, isn't it a problem to have billion-dollar technology sitting around the house?"

He was right, so I kissed him once again, slipped inside to change into my leather, and then headed for the base.


	19. Would You Like to Play a Game?

**Disclaimer: I do not own Death Note.**

**A/N: Not the last chapter. One more, I think, MAYBE two.**

* * *

It was hard to clear my face of excitement when I casually placed the chip in front of my boss where he sat at a desk, the little click of plastic against wood seeming inadequate for the value of the thing.

He kept writing for a moment, then paused to look at whatever I had presented him with. For a moment, he didn't even recognize it.

Then all of a sudden he did and his eyes went wide. He stared for a good minute before he actually managed to raise his head to meet my eyes, trying (and failing) to hide the newfound respect he had for me.

"You actually managed to get this," he said in disbelief.

"Yep."

"Is this really it?"

"Check it if you don't believe me."

"We don't have the technology to even _run_ this..." He picked it up as if it were sharp glass, bringing it close to his eyes to see the little dragon seal. "_Damn._ But this must have been well-guarded. We tried to get some lower guys to steal it, but they couldn't even get _into _the place. How much security was there?"

"More than you would believe," I said, even though I had never actually seen the room where the chip had been kept. I let him be in awe of me for a few more seconds before I prompted, "What's next?"

I crossed the room as he jumped, startled out of his reverie, and fiddled with several manila folders. I took my usual place on the hideous zebra-striped couch that singularly proved that most of the men here were straight, by far the nicest thing in the room besides the tech on the walls and, of course, the chip that Matt had purchased for me. Why hadn't _I_ thought of just stealing the money to buy it legally? That would have been so much easier than breaking in like I tried to. I lost focus for a little bit while I daydreamed like some kind of schoolgirl about Matt and what he did at KaibaCorp. He really did look very good all cleaned up like that... and then making out with him _in_ these suits in front of our door... hot...

Time to pay attention again.

I fully expected a promotion after such a shit assignment, but apparently Richard was harder to squeeze career advancement out of. I discovered this when there actually _was_ a 'next' and he said, "Assassination. Your favorite, so enjoy. Not quite so hard this time."

Lazily, I opened the file, surprised at how few pages there were. "Not a lot of info on this one," I observed.

"That's why you're doing it instead of one of the dogs. Believe it or not, that little file is everything we know about this guy. He's good. Hacker."

I wondered briefly if Matt would know him as I studied the portion of the file that explained the target's offence. Apparently he had actually gotten close enough to track a member of the Mafia to this city, although he hadn't yet identified the exact address. It was believed that with more time he would find the hideout, so would have to be eliminated.

Standard business.

Standard, except my heart stopped when I saw the 'objectives' portion.

_Locate and kill computer hacker –PlayAGame?–_

That was Matt's main hacking name. I would recognize it anywhere, with its various levels of meaning that were distinctly Matt. His favorite movie, Saw, with the guy who always said, "Would you like to play a game?" Then the video games, of course, and the way the name was a challenge to anyone who he hacked, to come play with him... to beat him if they could...

No. No way. It couldn't be. How could they have tracked him tracking me? He was literally one of the best in the world, he was the L of the hacking world, he left nothing behind, he...

He didn't initially know he was dealing with the Mafia. He was just doing a simple track. He wouldn't have known that he needed to _be_ careful, let alone _that_ careful...

But he was _so smart_! And so paranoid about his hacking that he would have totally erased his tracks...

But he was distraught at the time. He was looking for me. He probably couldn't _think_ any more than I had been able to without him. He had probably been self-destructing just as much as I had.

And now he was a target, all because of me, just like I knew he would be.

"Why don't we just recruit this guy?" I said suddenly. I was amazed at how steady my voice sounded, when it felt inside like I was on fire. And I knew what that felt like. "I mean, if he's really that good, then we could use him. That way, in the future, our files could be a little thicker than this." I made the last part sound sarcastic. Didn't want to break character.

"Too dangerous," Richard replied dispassionately. "He already knows too much."

"But he might be Mafia material," I argued. "I've got a gut feeling about this."

Richard Head frowned and peered at me around his examination of the chip. "You got a problem, 'Crazy Fuck'?" He emphasized my 'name.' "Usually you're all over the idea of killing someone. I would go so far as to say that it's your damn hobby." He narrowed his eyes. "So what's so different about this hacker?"

I rolled my eyes. "He's my fag lover."

Dickhead laughed. "Kill the dude, get your next job, and forget about it. We have enough hackers. We're not missing anything."

My face was still perfectly cool. "Yeah, whatever." I crossed my ankles on the coffee table and yawned, but inside I was thinking frantically.

What were my options?

I could kill M- but I couldn't even finish the _thought_, let alone actually entertain the idea.

I could kill _myself, _but if I did, Richard would just assign the job to someone else, making the suicide meaningless and leaving Matt totally defenseless.

I could recruit him against orders. That wouldn't work either, because Richard would just assume I was delivering him, and kill him himself right in front of me. I definitely wouldn't survive that.

I could refuse the mission, but that would result in the same problems as the suicide option. Literally, Head would just shoot me and then get someone else to fulfill the mission.

It was looking like my dear superior was gonna have to die.

Right now, before he could tell anyone else about the job.

I waited until Richard was back to examining the chip, not looking at me. I got silently to my feet and crept over to him, undetectable in the way that only Wammy's could teach you to be. He had no idea I was so close to him that there was no way I could miss, and when I was absolutely sure that I had aimed correctly, I swiftly removed my gun from my pants, cocked it, and fired into the base of his skull.

Dead instantly, he slumped over onto the table, his blood seeping straight onto the chip and more than likely destroying it. Matt and Kaiba would have been appalled.

I gathered up the file and ran to the shredder in the corner of the room, stuffing it in and sighing in relief when it was thoroughly destroyed, being one of those shredders that reduces the paper to tiny squares. There was no way anyone would be willing to tape that all back together for an unknown case.

I was unfazed by the expected stomping of booted feet bursting into the room. I knew the price of my actions: Shooting your minions was A-OK, even encouraged. If Richard had shot _me_, no one would have cared. Shooting your boss, though- at least blatantly and in the middle of the base- wasn't.

I managed to take down a few of the guys as they ran at me, but they just kept coming and eventually I ran out of bullets.

The grabbed me and forced me painfully to the ground. I knew what would come next, and even so I didn't regret it. I would do anything for Matt. Even this, if this is what it came down to.

One of the larger men bashed me on the head and my world slowly spun to darkness.


	20. For You, I Would

**Disclaimer: I do not own Death Note.**

**A/N: Last chapter!**

**

* * *

**

I woke up and, for a moment, was unsure that I had opened my eyes at all. It was pitch-black. I was also starting to suspect that people got some kind of fucked-up pleasure out of making me unconscious, because it sure seemed like a lot of people had an affinity for it and it was getting damn annoying. Judging only from the pressure against my face, I was lying on my stomach on something hard.

I didn't need to think about it to figure it out, though. I had seen it happen enough times to know where I was, and as I blindly got to my feet and began to carefully pad around my immediate vicinity, it was becoming increasingly obvious.

I was in the cells where they kept people to be targets for new recruits. The odds were good that I was even in the same cell as the one the guy _I_ had shot to get into the Mafia had been stored in, and here I would remain until some oblivious dick wandered in wanting to join up.

I had three or four days, max, until a new person came by, and I had no idea how long I had already been in here and no way of measuring the time from this point on, unless I wanted to count seconds. I knew from my own rounds guarding this place that there were no windows, that there were lots of guards and really no ways to escape. A prison built by criminals, for criminals. They didn't even bring in food. They brought water every two days, though.

Days and days to wait, and nothing to do but think.

I didn't want to think, so I killed as much time as I could by walking the perimeter of my cell, examining every nook and cranny for methods of escape. I wasn't going to just sit by and wait to be killed. If I didn't escape, I wasn't going to get out of here. If the kid missed, they'd just kill both of us. If the kid hit me, obviously I'd be dead. There was a chance that the kid would hit me in a non-essential body part, but a) the odds of that were slim and b) the Mafia would just kill me anyway, and debate for a while about whether or not to kill _him_ before coming to the conclusion that they should.

After a point, though, I did have to sit down. There was no cot or pile of straw or anything, so I just plopped down on the floor with my back against the wall and closed my eyes.

When I closed my eyes I saw, not the faces of the men I had killed, but Matt.

And all of a sudden I was crying, because I was never going to see him again and suddenly I understood that I wouldn't be able to keep my promise. Even if I somehow managed to do the impossible and escape, I couldn't go back to him. They would hunt me down and kill anyone they found me with, especially when they realized he was my lover, _especially_ when they realized that he was -PlayAGame?-.

But I wouldn't escape. I would die here, and Matt would never know anything about it.

What would he think? Would he think that I'd left him? Would he think that I just used him all this time and took off when I no longer needed him?

No, he knew me well enough to know that I wasn't lying when I told him I'd never leave him again. He would come to the correct conclusion that I was dead.

But was that better or worse?

**PAGE BREAK**

I don't know how long I sat in that place, but it felt like a very long time. They never gave me water, so it must have been less than two days.

I never really stopped looking for a way to escape, but it was so dark that it was nearly impossible. I felt like a cave creature, it was so dark.

Then, suddenly, it wasn't anymore. A door opened and light poured in, temporarily blinding me. Well, a different kind of blind than I had been. "'Mere, asshole," an unfamiliar voice ordered. Ah, gone were the days when they called me Crazy Fuck or got their heads blown off. That's what I get for killing my superior.

It was worth it.

When I didn't react (it really was rather bright after about forty-eight hours of darkness), I felt a hand roughly grab me by the shoulder and haul me out of the little room, only to shove me into another.

_This_ room looked familiar, even through the haze that was my vision. It was weird to think about how, only months ago, I was standing on the other end of it. The hands released me and I stood up straight, regaining my balance.

Once I was sure that I wasn't going to fall over, I flipped my ragged hair out of my eyes and smirked at the newbie across from me although I still couldn't really see more than just a red blur. "Hey. What's your name, kid?"

He was silent for a moment before he said, in a voice so familiar that it made my stomach drop right down to my pelvis, "Miles."

No, dammit! How had this happened? This wasn't supposed to happen! The point of this whole thing was to keep Matt safe! Damn it! Fucking hell! _Damn it!_

I stared at him, horrified, and the look of confusion on his face would have been funny in any other situation.

He must have come here to find me, maybe avenge me if they had already killed me.

No. No, no, no, no, no. He would never shoot me. He would aim to miss, and he was such a good shot that he could make it completely convincing. Then they would kill us both, but he didn't _know_ that...

Because I knew him, I could tell that he was thinking hard about what he should do, not that he ever even considered _actually _shooting me, and I watched his facial muscles relax slightly when he made the decision. He held up the gun they gave him and pointed it at my head.

Only I could tell because it was _my_ face the gun was aiming at, but it would whizz past my ear without touching my skin. It would probably take off a bit of my hair.

Damn it, damn it, damn it! My mind was reeling and I couldn't think. I had to tell him, but if I said anything they might figure out that we knew each other. And I couldn't communicate a phrase like, "Shoot me in the head and kill me, sweetheart, because if you miss they'll kill us both" with just my eyes, although I was sure as hell trying.

He frowned, catching the desperation in my expression if not the actual message. He thought that I thought he was actually going to kill me. He tilted the gun a little more to the side so that it would clearly miss and shook his head very, _very _slightly. My eyes went wider and he turned it back, although the confusion in his eyes only grew.

But he would never be willing to kill me, no matter what, even if I _had_ been able to communicate the whole story to him. Even if he knew how it worked, he would still miss on purpose. He wouldn't want to be living if I was dead, so he'd choose the option that would leave him dead along with me.

It was then that I knew what I had to do.

I looked at him, nodded a fraction of an inch, and breathed out a miniscule smile.

He relaxed, cocked the gun, and fired to miss.

At the last moment, I tilted my face only inches and took the bullet in the side of my head.

Pain exploded in my skull louder than the gunshot. I instantly fell to the floor, and somewhere far, far away, I heard Matt screaming. I had never heard someone scream like that in my entire life, and then I felt heat where he threw himself onto me, and also on my head where he applied pressure with his palms to try to stop the bleeding.

Lightheaded was an understatement for obvious reasons, and my vision was dim.

"Mello," I heard Matt sob, and I was glad the room was largely soundproof, "I aimed to miss, I swear, I _know_ I did. You... why did you purposely take the bullet? Do you really want to die that much? Mel, why'd you make me kill you? How am I supposed to live without you? Mello, don't leave me, you promised you would never leave me again. You _promised_, Mihael..."

Now my hearing was gone, and all I could see was a blood-stained image of his lips moving in the pattern of my name. My _real_ name, the name only he and I knew.

If I had had control of my mouth, I still wouldn't have been able to tell him. If I told him, they would kill him. Even with his freakout now, he still had a chance, if he thought to act cold quickly enough.

I saw Rod Ross come into the room, just like he did for me so, so long ago. I saw his lips move, and I saw Matt freeze up, freeze over. Perfect timing. They would let him live. Matt would be in the Mafia now, but it was better than him being dead. They are mostly good to hackers, because a single hacker could cause a ton of trouble if they were pissed off. Matt would never have to kill anyone. At least, anyone besides me.

He kept physical contact with me for as long as he could while he stood up and faced his new boss's boss's boss. He was still shaking with grief, but he disguised it as adrenalin. I saw his lips form, "I want to watch him die" and Ross grinned.

"Looks like we have a new Mello," I made out.

Matt, trained so perfectly to stay cold when he needed to, didn't react until Ross was out of earshot. Then he instantly dropped to his knees next to me, then onto his side, curling up with me. He wrapped his arms around me, and while it was uncomfortably warm, I only had a few seconds left to live anyway. It was amazing that I had held on _this_ long.

My hearing came back in patchy, but well enough that I heard him say, "Mello, I'd do anything for you. You just had to tell me, and I would have done it. Anything but this. Anything but _killing_ you. I don't understand why you..."

"-att," I croaked out. I don't know how I did it. I guess he has just always had that affect on me. He's always been able to make me do the impossible. I felt his arms tighten around me and I both heard and felt his sharp intake of breath. Where my senses had been dulled or given up a moment ago, now they were hyperrealistic and back with a vengeance. I was sure I could hear his heart beating.

It was still beating. That was good. That's the way it was supposed to be.

I'd do anything for him, and it had never been clearer to me than at that very moment, even with all the years we had been together. As kids, I killed spiders for him. As teenagers, I beat the shit out of people who made fun of him for being gay. I left him to protect him. And now, I would happily take this bullet all over again if it meant he continued to be in the world, with or without me.

And as the darkness took me over for the very last time, as I used the last bit of control I had to brush the lock of his hair that was closest to my hand, my last thoughts dragged themselves sluggishly over his heavy sobs through my blurry mind.

_'Mail, for you, I would die."_


End file.
